


Insurmountable

by JJuniper



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Funny, Humor, Light-Hearted, Love, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-01-26 01:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJuniper/pseuds/JJuniper
Summary: [HG/SS] Sometimes, when things seem insurmountable, all you need is a helping hand and a little hope- and, of course, a headstrong Muggleborn witch with a plan.
Relationships: SS/HG - Relationship
Comments: 33
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

A/N Before we get started I'd like to state that I don't own or make any claims to J.K Rowling's wonderful Harry Potter. Her characters are simply a sandpit for me to create small stories with her characters. I also don't profit from anything I write here. It's simply just for fun (and reviews)!

It should also be noted that I've altered the original story a little bit to fit my story. What's the fun in fanfiction if you can't play God and stir things up a bit? ;)

* * *

Chapter One

19th of September, 1997

Friday

In hindsight, she probably should have expected this. Her and Ron's relationship had been going downhill since they both seemed to realise that the chase, the idea, was more appealing than the final catch. It was always part of their unspoken plan: Harry marries Ginny; she marries Ron. That way Harry and herself were officially part of the family.

It was strange to think that this was her plan right up until ten minutes ago. Right up until she decided an afternoon stroll sounded lovely to clear her head and wake her up. A walk around the gardens and if she were lucky she'd find a nice place to do a bit of homework before the Birthday celebrations began in earnest. It was almost compulsory to have the parting celebration after dinner. An excuse for Fred and George to send whatever mischievous creations they'd been plotting as a form of celebration, she was sure.

Looking back on it, perhaps she should've just confronted them. But she had felt so angry and upset that words failed her. How could you convey the years of trust that were betrayed in that single moment? Although it wasn't all-consuming, she still cared for him. He still meant everything to her. Even though she knew he was losing interest, it still hurt to be cheated on in the most literal sense.

She felt like she couldn't blame him. She hadn't been, by any means of the word, a particularly good girlfriend lately. Everything had been a strain lately. She hadn't even the energy between all she'd been planning and plotting. It felt stupid, too. He'd finally asked her out at the Valentine's Day ball in sixth year and she'd so hastily accepted. Everybody tells you about crushes, but nobody tells you how fast you can get over them when familiarity seeps in; when everything isn't quite so interesting as it first appeared.

Hermione pushed through a bunch of third and fourth year students and made her way to the library, hair surely crackling and eyes likely bloodshot from crying. All the students in her way parted with furtive glances, stumbling over each other in an attempt to not awake the Head Girl's ire.

After her analytical pondering over her current dilemma, Hermione found that her sadness had morphed into anger. How dare he, really? As if she wasn't suffering too. Why was it that she had to make the effort constantly? Why couldn't Ron move his timetable around to accommodate her schedule for once? It wasn't as if he had any more on his plate than she did. She wouldn't even be surprised if the majority of his "being busy" contributed to shagging Lavender in rose bushes, talking Quidditch and groaning over not doing his homework.

The library had always accommodated Hermione throughout the years. It seemed like an infinite source of knowledge that would guide her through all her problems. There was a book on everything, and so everything can be solved with a book. Well, nearly everything. She supposed there were still things that you couldn't learn from a book. Like how house elves weren't fond of Gryffindor witches hiding socks under the cushions in Gryffindor Tower. She really did stop hiding clothes after Professor McGonagall started noticing a particular trend related to the cleanliness of Gryffindor Tower compared to the other common rooms. 

Hermione pulled her sleeves back, sniffed and opened the library door. At the front desk sat Professor Sprout, which was a shock in itself; Professor Sprout rarely left the greenhouse and Madam Pince had an obsessive relationship with the Library books.

"Miss Granger, I should have known. There's not another soul here. The first time this week it hasn't been raining Crups and Kneazles and-" she stopped mid sentence to take in Hermione's no doubt red, blotchy face and dazed appearance. "Oh dear me, what's happened?" she asked softly, puttering around the desk to embrace Hermione.

Just as quickly as her anger came, it fled her. Instantly forgetting the pep talk she gave herself over being indignant at Ron, she allowed herself to be encased in the chubby, motherly arms.

"Nothing," sniffed Hermione, yet, after realising that 'nothing' wasn't going to slide for an acceptable excuse in her current state, corrected herself. "I just needed some time to myself for a while. What with exams and everything- I'm a bit overwhelmed." Hermione knew she wasn't a particularly good liar. Her suspicion was confirmed when Professor Sprout gave her a searching look.

Professor Sprout let go of her, patting her on the arm. "Well, if you ever need to talk..." She gave her a meaningful glance before returning back to the desk and settling back down. She picked up her quill in her worn, grubby hands and began to silently scribble on what looked to be a students essay.

Hermione rubbed her face on her sleeve before walking past the desks and into her current favourite aisle. She should work on her homework, like she previously planned, but it wasn't stimulating enough to distract her. She needed something that would require more of her attention. Something onerous. She scanned the shelves, running her fingers along the spines. Plucking out the book she was looking for, she sank into her favourite chair. The one that had a nice mahogany desk and an outlook of the lake.

She ran her hands over the cover of Advanced Transfiguration, feeling the long dent in the spine before opening the book to the repeatedly dog eared chapter she had been reading. The pages were not dogeared by her, mind; damaging books was within Hermione's own personal version of the seven deadly sins. Other careless students had obviously had the chapter assigned and couldn't give a rats about books, regardless. Terrible, really.

Work was as good as anything to distract her. She understood it wasn't a particularly healthy form of therapy, but she decided it was more useful than wallowing in self pity.

Transfiguration was one of her favourite subjects. It was a difficult, intricate subject that required absolute concentration and understanding. One could draw parallels between Arithmancy and Transfiguration, if the same perspective was utilised. Recently, Hermione had been systematically investigating the branches of Transfiguration— particularly human Transfiguration, if she were to be exact. She had been using previous works borne of either one - or both - subjects to further an idea that came to her after a particularly bad row with Ron. It was just one of the lengthy factors that had kept her busy the past few weeks, incidentally. Her ideas consist of jumbled musings thus far. Was there a way to manipulate the process of Human Transfiguration by first exploring the necessities of changing form? What magical reaction actually takes place under Animagus transformation? If such reactions were identifiable, would it possible to manipulate the possible outcome with Arithmetic contributions? And could the process be simplified that way? Admittedly, the latter was what caught her attention in the first place; it separated regular, passing musings into applicable ideas.

She was already well acquainted with the process of Animagus training. She had actually been planning on becoming an Animagus, but had been putting it off. Hermione had not planned on becoming an Animagus for wholly industrious purposes, surprisingly. It first caught her attention as it seemed difficult, but as she read more, she realised she didn't place her interest solely on the fact it was educational, but that she genuinely enjoyed it. Curiosity helped too, she supposed.

That was up until she read up on it more extensively. It wasn't the arduous hours that bothered her, but the consummation process that required the participant to complete a lengthy, complicated ritual. Flipping to the page in which she was referencing, Hermione reread the extract.

"Part of the process by which one becomes an Animagus is holding the leaf of a mandrake in their mouth for an entire month, using the leaf for the creation of a potion, reciting an incantation (Amato Animo Animato Animagus) on a daily basis[2], and drinking the Animagus potion during a lightning storm. Once the initial training is over, an Animagus can then change at will, with or without the use of a wand."*

It was, after all, the reason why Animagi were so rare. Besides, would it really be worth it? The Ministry would know what you were, and what if you happened to get stuck with some animal that proved wholly impractical? Professor McGonagall mentioned that everyone had an inner Animagus. It often took the form of your Patronus, and if that were the case, she really didn't see what use an Otter would be. Oh, she loved her Patronus, yes; the little critter never failed to bring a smile to her face, with its boundless energy and joie de vivre. But even Hermione had to agree that an aquatic weasel wasn't particularly helpful. But she would look into it. She wasn't that dim-witted to put theory into practise without thorough research, but the prospect was enthralling.

Hermione rubbed her eyes. It had been a few hours since she had first ran here in near-hysterics. Another hour until curfew, if the window near where she was sitting was anything to go by. Stretching, she leaned back in her chair and reached above her head. Her chair clicked and the chair leg gave out.

THWUMP

"Can't they stabilise these chairs?! Honestly, you'd think a magical school could manage that at least!" Luckily Madam Pince wasn't here for once in her career; she surely would've been kicked out for the fuss.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" Professor Sprout asked rather loudly. She hadn't moved from her spot but had swivelled around to make sure Hermione wasn't hurt. If she heard her unsavoury comments, which she no doubt did, judging by the faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes, she chose to ignore it.

"I'm fine." Hermione patted herself, making sure nothing was hurt. "Just slipped, is all. Don't worry, Professor."

Hermione made to sit up and right herself, but saw something glimmering in her peripheral vision. She turned herself towards it and squinted. There was a hole in the corner of the adjacent shelf and wall. Hermione felt for her wand before pulling it out of her pocket.

"Lumos," Hermione whispered. She pointed her wand at the hole and inched closer. She could make out something in a rectangular shape. Hermione cast a few detection spells but could detect no dark curses, so she carefully peered into the hole. A book was sitting in there. It looked like it hadn't been touched in centuries. Hermione turned around and peered through the bookshelves at Professor Sprout. It wouldn't be too bad if she were to use a severing charm on the crumbling rock, would it? Sure, it was school property and severing charms weren't ideal for slashing stone, but she'd done much worse to school property before, and the crumbling rock didn't need much encouragement to disintegrate. Besides, a blasting charm would just be idiotic; too loud, too unreliable and far too risky.

"Diffindo," Hermione murmured, making a controlled slashing swoop with her wand. The rock gave way enough for her to reach in and grab it. She pulled it out and turned it over in her hands.

The book was cad in black leather and was covered in a thick layer of dust. She brushed her fingers across the surface, feeling a slight tickling that spoke of particularly strong magic. Words on the front of the book slowly booted themselves into existence until a title became visible.

Hermione almost dropped the book. Occlumency and Legilimency: An Ancient Craft of Mind. Hermione knew of Harry and Professor Snape's disastrous Occlumency lessons. Professor Snape was cruel to Harry. Although, Hermione admitted freely that Harry didn't try nearly as hard as what he should have. Their enmity and shared contemptment was a recipe for disaster. Their lessons came to a sudden halt one day— the cause of which Harry refused to divest. Because of this, Hermione had a basic understanding of what Occlumency was. After all, she had to listen to Harry constantly complain about it for nearly all of the fifth year.

Carefully, Hermione cast a Reparo on the wall and chair, then stood up. She looked around before spotting a random book sitting abandoned on the table. Picking it up, Hermione cast a charm to duplicate the cover of the book. She slipped it over the top of the Occlumency Book. Hermione also cast a charm that filled the pages with the contents of the pseudo book (should anyone get their hands on it). To open it so as to show the actual pages, they needed her wand, which Hermione decided was a safer course of action; it was much easier to decode or overhear a password than to steal a wand. It isn't a complicated charm by any means, but it was the simplicity of the charm that made it quite effective. It would give off a weaker aura, making it significantly less detectable.

Finished with her investigation, Hermione put the Transfiguration book back before ungraciously shoving the book under her robes.

It was too close to curfew to get a proper look at it here, so she might as well get a head start and sneak it out while Professor Sprout was preoccupied. She was quite certain she wouldn't be detected by the anti-stealing charms, as it wasn't even technically a Library book. From what little tests she'd done so far, she could tell the book had no hexes imbedded within the pages - whether it be dark curses or Madam Pince's restrictions. (Was there really that much of a difference?)

Harry and Ron really were a bad influence on her. With both comments in mind, Hermione made her way to the front of the Library.

"Are you feeling any better now, dear?"

To be truthful, she had nearly forgotten altogether. Nearly. She could still feel a slight twisting feeling in her gut and the worn out feeling that came from emotional exhaustion. But aside from that, Hermione was feeling significantly better than before.

"Much." Hermione smiled her first genuine smile all day. "I just did some personal research on something and I feel much, much better."

"I'm glad," Professor Sprout said, not at all perturbed by the strange response. With that, she went back to marking, adjusting her plant based hat and giving Hermione a parting nod. "Goodnight, Miss Granger."

"Goodnight, Professor." She slipped out of the door.

Hermione didn't really feel like returning to Gryffindor Tower just yet. All of her friends would be there, wondering where she was, and as bad as it may seem to leave them hanging, she just wasn't ready to face Ron yet. Perhaps she should go to the Kitchens? She missed dinner and wouldn't mind getting something to eat or having someplace private to read before the big confrontation. Hermione didn't feel very Gryffindor brave — avoiding the situation. She supposed it was a good thing that being Head Girl gave her the benefit of having her own room. Hermione couldn't imagine what it would be like to still be sharing a room with Lavender and Parvati after seeing what she saw mere hours ago.

Hermione shook her head as if clearing the unappealing thought. Well, no time like the present. As long as she got back at an explainable time with the pretence of patrolling the halls, she should be fine.

* * *

*Quote extracted from the Harry Potter Wiki article Animagus. wiki/Animagus

[Hey! Don't boo and hiss, I know how some feel about the Wiki, but the reference felt appropriate.]

A/N  
Thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to check out my story :)! Again, I'm a bit of a review enthusiast, so I'd appreciate reviews- even critical ones. All criticism is good criticism, as long as it's nice, helpful or/and appropriate. Mwah! xx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

19th September

Friday

Severus Snape was not an overly complicated man. It was what he liked to tell himself. He had the same needs as everybody else. If that need happened to be a midnight coffee to help him cope through another sleepless night, then so be it. Severus smirked wryly to himself. After all, why not blame the restlessness on his unfortunate caffeine schedule? It was not as if he had pleasant dreams, regardless.

Just as he was contemplating how bitterly unfair the consequences of being an insomniac were, he saw a flicker of light under the famous, or rather infamous (as most teachers caught the house elves serving students at all times of night because of their pride in serving), pear painting. Being a regular customer, Severus was intrigued. He was quite certain that the house elves resorted to using residual light from the ovens and fire place at this time of night as most of the elves retire. The remaining preferred to work at a more leisurely pace at this time of night (if you'd call leisurely completing the same tasks at a slower pace). The light flickered again, causing Severus to notice that said light had a blue tinge. If he was intrigued before, he was positively interested now; that tinge of colour was not the white or orange tint lighting the house elves used, but a signature colour from a wand.

He crept forward quietly and tickled the pear before stepping back and peering inside.

Of all the circumstances, of all the trouble makers, of all the insufferable dunderheaded students. Miss Granger was sitting at a table with a jar of blue light, a book and a concentrated expression. It would have almost been an amusing sight: the stereotypical bookworm, so absorbed in whatever task she was pursuing that she hadn't even noticed the majority of house elves on duty cowering in the corner, sharing nervous whispers, or himself surveying the room.

At least he could use the opportunity to take the Gryffindor Princess and Head Girl a few pegs down on her untouchable, holier-than-thou, goody two shoes act. Oh, but won't Minerva be thrilled when she sees the hourglass come morning? A devastating day for Gryffindor, indeed.

"Miss Granger," he purred. He was quite proud of how his voice travelled off the cold, mossy walls. Especially the way it managed to make her, quite literally, jump. She sprung up so abruptly that the faulty table teetered, causing the glass of blue flame to roll off the table and break. The house elves snapped to attention, eagerly vanishing the mess. Miss Granger glanced at the elves, her eyebrows furrowed. She opened her mouth before quickly closing it, obviously thinking better of commenting on it. Cringing, she clasped her hands together and looked at his feet. Clearly the bleeding heart Gryffindor was still naïve enough to believe such servitude was forced. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me what it is you think you're doing in the Kitchens at this time of night?"

"I was just hungry, sir," Miss Granger said, looking almost anywhere but his face. It was quite obvious that Potter had warned her about making eye contact. Pathetic, really. He didn't need to use Legilimency to read a blatant lie. It was an insult to his intelligence, if anything; there wasn't even any food on the table to begin with.

He pitched his voice until it was almost a whisper, injecting as much venom into the sentence as was possible. He was satisfied when he saw her flinch.

"Is that so? Twenty points from Gryffindor for lying to a teacher, Miss Granger. Another thirty for being out of bed in the first place."

He watched her unclasp her hands and shift her gaze to the book on the table, picking it up. "You wouldn't mind sharing the tome that you're currently reading, would you? After all, you're here to eat, not to read." He put his hand out and gestured for her to hand it over.

Miss Granger took a step backward, but made no move to hand over the book. He took a step forward. "I believe I asked you a question, Miss Granger. It would be in your best interest to answer."

Miss Granger flushed faintly pink before double checking the title. "Professor Snape, sir, the book really doesn't have anything to do with why I'm here. It was just something I randomly picked up. I'll just go back to my rooms."

The glare he gave her stopped her from doing just that. Though he'd never admit it aloud, he would confess within the confines of his mind to being interested in what had the unflappable, loquacious Head Girl flustered. "I've had enough with enquiring. Hand it over. It's an order, not a question."

She looked down at the book and carefully passed it over, not unlike how a child hands back an exam after filling half the page with oversized handwriting. He snatched the book from her hands and gave her one last penetrating glare before reading the title of the text. He raised his eyebrows in a semblance of surprised confusion.

"Caring for Magical Children, Miss Granger? I wasn't aware taking care of Potter and Weasley was such a full time job." Oh, he could have done much better than that, he was sure, but what was he to make of such a book? He couldn't understand what possible purpose such a book would have as - of course. Knowledge. The chit had to know everything.

Considering this, he turned the book over in his hands, scrutinising her reaction. "What use do you have for this book, really?"

Miss Granger shifted from side to side and glanced uneasily at the book in his hands. "Like I told you, sir. I simply picked up a random book and started reading it. As I read on, it turned out to be very interesting. I obviously lost track of the time." She glanced at the clock on the wall and, wincing, shifted her gaze to his.

"I really am sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Severus could sense she wasn't telling him the full truth, but his head was pounding due to a distinct lack of caffeine in his system. He scowled. Truthfully, he couldn't care less at the particular moment what business the Granger girl had with the book, as long as she got out his sight. It wasn't out of character, after all.

"Very well, get out." Severus turned around and gave the house elf a quick order before looking back at Miss Granger's retreating form. "And Miss Granger?"

She paused. "Yes, sir?"

"Detention will take place immediately after dinner every night for the next week. Don't be late."

* * *

A/N Hopefully the whole 'detention' thing doesn't sound too cliché. I needed a way for them to interact, and it shall hopefully aid as a catalyst for future endeavours and more advanced themes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

20th September

Saturday

Hermione was enjoying the wonderful warm, snug feeling of her cosy bed. That was, of course, right up until she was unceremoniously awoken by a distinct weight on her chest and a familiar tickling feeling on her cheek. Wearily opening her eyes, Hermione peered at the orange ball of fluff on her chest.

"Crookshanks, you're half Kneazle, and I know that you know that Saturdays mean no classes. In fact, you usually spend this time exploring the castle without the chance of being trampled. So, by the same leap of logic, it would be considered good manners to NOT wake me up under the pretense of sleeping on my chest."

Crookshanks slowly opened his eyes, lazily blinking at her, and then began rubbing his snout under her chin and purring.

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm being manipulated whenever you do that?"

_Mrowll_

Hermione sighed before gently moving said furball off her chest. Pulling the quilt up to her chin, she stared at the ceiling and thought about the implications of a certain chat she was due to have this morning. Rolling over onto her side, she began idly scratching Crooks behind the ear.

"I don't want to get up, Crooks. I know I have to go face Ron, and frankly, I don't want to. I don't want Harry getting upset over something that Ron and I figured out long ago. We just aren't compatible. It hurt like hell to be cheated on, and it still does, mind you, but I just don't have the energy to get angry over it. I'm bloody well hurting, that's for sure, but it's more a blow to my confidence than anything else. Not to mention it will hurt Harry; he's always been a bit idyllic, after all. Ron shouldn't be defended for cheating on me, you know? But I don't want it to be the end of our friendship. Harry will have little qualms over holding such a - well, I can't say a petty grudge, because it certainly would be a deserved grudge. I just can't do that to either of them, though. They need each other, what with the whole Voldemort thing. Friendship is really important at the moment and Ron cheating on me will feel like a betrayal in Harry's eyes. Harry hasn't got many people he can afford to trust. Not to mention that Ron is Ginny's brother, and that puts both Harry and Ginny in such an uncomfortable position. Oh Merlin, Crooks. I couldn't just have an uncomplicated, relatively straightforward year for once, could I?" she sighed. "I could just break up with him and claim an amicable split. I won't even have to mention it. Right, Crooks?"

Crookshanks leaped gracefully (for a rather pudgy cat) over to the other side of the bed before turning around and giving her the look. As if to say, _Well? Are you a Gryffindor or what?_ He glanced appraisingly at her before nudging her side.

"Fine, fine, I'm getting up. But this is going to be a royal disaster. Oh, and by the way, you fat cat, don't think for one second that I fell for the good boy act. I know you've been out scrounging for food, if your belly is anything to tell by — and you definitely won't be getting any kippers from me, mister. It's for your own good," she finished, indicating his stomach with a pointed glance.

Getting up and stretching, Hermione fetched her casual clothes and robes before heading into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

After Hermione returned to the common room last night, it was empty. She had expected it, of course. That was the whole purpose of seeking refuge in the Kitchens, after all. Speaking of, she was rather proud of herself for that little stunt. Well, definitely not proud of the fact that she had lost fifty points and gained a weeks worth of detentions, but rather the fact that the book had slipped his notice. When Professor Snape asked what the purpose of the book was, she was able to tell him the truth in a round-a-bout way. The truth that left out the specific details, of course, but the truth all the same. She really did find the book randomly and she really did find it interesting. She still felt embarrassed about the pretend cover, though. After arriving back at her rooms she laid down and continued to read where she had left off before the Professor Snape incident. The first chapter of the book was very dense and detailed. The main focus was clearing the mind, not entirely unlike meditation, she supposed. So, starting from here on in (she didn't have much success last night) she would do that before bed. It didn't specify when, exactly, but she assumed it was a winding down activity. After that she had penned an apology to Fred and George over not showing up to the after party. She'd known that they went out of the way to enquire into the visit with Professor McGonogall to see her (even if a lot of the appeal lies with testing out their new Weasley Wheezes). She was so exhausted that she fell asleep as soon as her fluffy head hit the pillow.

After getting out of the shower and finishing her morning ablutions, Hermione gave Crookshanks an appreciative scratch behind the ear before slipping out of the room and heading to breakfast.

* * *

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table waiting for Ron. It was a quarter past eight; actually quite early for the weekend. She'd stopped by the Owlery on the way to send the letter she wrote last night. Still, only a few handfuls of students were here. On weekends breakfast usually wasn't attended until late because of the traditional Saturday sleep-in. The only reason why Hermione bothered was because she knew Ron was willing to miss some sleep if food was involved. Especially if said food resembled a full English breakfast.

Hermione buttered some toast. She wasn't even hungry; she just needed something to do with her hands to stop herself from fidgeting.

She wished that she brought something to read, even if it was just muggle fiction. Austen's familiarity always calmed her nerves. She snorted to herself. Who would think that Hermione Granger spent her free moments in the romance section of her private collection? Maybe it was for the better that she restricted it to pleasure reading. She became a tad bit antisocial when there was a book around and a chapter she was itching to dive into. On the days that she had her nose stuck in a particularly interesting or engaging section, the pumpkin juice pitcher would be out of order; instead used to prop up the tome.

Just then, Ron bounced into the great hall. He was in a good mood, it seemed.

"Mornin' Hermione." Ron sat down next to her before, predictably, filling his plate with anything he could get his hands on. "So whatcha gonna do today? Wait— no, let me guess. The Library? Doesn't matter, I can't blame you. There's not much else to do besides Quidditch. Me and Harry were gonna go out on the pitch for some practice later." Ron began to shovel food into his mouth. It was actually quite vulgar, but she'd almost grown used to it over the years. Almost being the key word. It didn't help her appetite, that was for sure. Ron was gesturing wildly, trying to explain some new revolutionary broom trick.

"Yes, sounds brilliant," she replied distractedly, glancing down at her plate, picking the toast into tiny pieces.

"Come on, 'Mione, the toasht didn't do anyfthin to you did eet? Whas bothering you?"

Casting a Muffliato, Hermione turned to face Ron. "How long were you going to wait to tell me that you were seeing Lavender behind my back?"

Ron made a gurgling sound and began choking in earnest, his face going even redder than usual. After a few seconds, he reached for his pumpkin juice and, swallowing, began to breathe normally again. Breathing deeply, and gathering what little wits he had, he replied.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. Really, I am. I didn't mean for it to go so far. Things haven't been going great for us… I didn't even know that you'd care."

"Sorry because you cheated on me or sorry that you got caught? It's a wonder sometimes, Ron. And yes, I do care. The only reason why I'm not making a big deal out of it is so Harry doesn't have to burden himself with choosing sides between his two best friends. It's true that I don't love you like that anymore, but that doesn't give you free range to do whatever you like. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not hurt, though. You hurt me, Ron. You betrayed my trust, and you betrayed our friendship. And with Lavender of all people! Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? You know that there's no love lost between us at this point, but it's still bloody well wrong. You hadn't even the decency to break it off with me beforehand.

"Besides, I'm doing this for Harry, not for you. For once in your life, think about the long term consequences. For everyone's sake please pretend that we broke up amicably and that everything's fine. Perhaps it will be one day. But Harry doesn't need this stress right now. He's dealing with a lot, and Ginny can't always be his saving grace. I wasn't lying when I said you hurt me. That wasn't exaggerated to coax you in guilt, Ron. Its genuine. I'm not heartbroken, but I do need time to heal."

"I- Of course I will, Hermione. I didn't know… I had no idea. I didn't want to hurt you. That sounds so stupid now, come to think of it. But at the time I didn't want you to feel like you weren't good enough for me, 'Mione. I don't know what I was thinking. It felt good to finally have someone who put me first; I was selfish. I'm a bit ashamed to admit that I didn't feel guilty… not then. I kept assuring myself that it wasn't only my fault; that I wasn't wholly to blame. I was being truthful about not meaning for it to go so far, though," Ron said grimly. "It makes me sound like such a prat, but… I didn't intend to actually start a relationship with her. I started to realise that I liked having someone whose hobbies weren't so different to mine; who I could talk to things about; who understood what I was talking about; someone I could understand in return. I don't even understand half the things you talk about, Hermione… I don't deserve you as a friend, let alone a girlfriend." Ron looked down at his plate. "Merlin, I don't even deserve your forgiveness."

"You probably don't," she snapped. He flinched. Glancing at Ron's freckled, forlorn expression, she felt a stab of sympathy. She didn't mean for that to come out so harshly, even if he was a complete arse. Hermione softened her voice. "Time heals, Ron. Time heals."

Ron pushed his plate away. He reflected later that it seemed, for the first time in a long time, that he just wasn't hungry.

Spotting Harry and Ginny, Hermione removed the spell and waved them over. She waited until Harry and Ginny sat down across from her and Ron and smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'm sorry for not being in the common room last night. It was rude of me to not come down and tell you all. I didn't feel well, so I decided to sleep it off. By the time I had a shower and got ready for bed I simply forgot about it. And secondly, thank you all for the presents. They were all really lovely and I appreciate it."

Ginny gave her a quizzical look before answering. "It's okay, Hermione. I explained that to Harry. I know you don't particularly like the birthday celebrations much anyway." Ginny discreetly elbowed Harry in the ribs. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. It's okay, Hermione. Don't worry about it."

Harry sounded a bit irritable. It wasn't a tone that suggested he purposely injected malice into the words, though. However, after years of being his friend, Hermione recognised that Harry wasn't in a particularly affectionate mood. Harry, sitting on the opposite side of the bench with Ginny, began silently filling his plate with sausage, eggs and toast.

Glancing over at Ginny, she caught her eye. She nodded towards Harry, silently asking what the problem was. Surprisingly, Ginny didn't seem too worried; she was smirking into her pumpkin juice. Finally taking pity on her, it seemed, Ginny broke the silence.

"Have you seen the hourglass this morning?"

She had nearly forgotten about that. Nearly. "No, I haven't." True enough. "What happened?"

Harry decided to finally join the conversation. "Some bloody prat lost us fifty points last night. No doubt after curfew. There's no way we can totally catch that up. It's half of what we earned last Quidditch match."

There was silence for a while. Harry and Ron were no doubt thinking of ways to earn said points back. Ron was scrunching up a napkin in his palm.

"They must have royally stuffed up, though. Fifty points for one person? That's insane. Old McGonagall took 150 off you lot once, but that was for the whole Norbert thing."

"Professor McGonagall, Ronald," Hermione chastised reflexively.

"Well," Ginny sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "There's really not much we can do about it, is there? We'll just have to make it back up. There's no point in getting angry about it. I mean, we've lost our fair share of points back in the day."

Harry grumbled something unintelligible and went back to his breakfast.

* * *

After breakfast was over, Hermione headed back up to her rooms to finish some homework and also finish reading the first chapter of her new book. On the way up to her rooms, she was stopped by a familiar noise: clicking shoes. An indignant huff sounded from beside her.

"Hermione. You don't think I'm that stupid, do you? I'm not one of the boys —I can do basic adding up, you know? You're suddenly ill and not at the party at the same time that fifty poin-"

Hermione cast a silencing charm. "I'm sorry, Ginny," she said, only slightly sheepish, "but it's going to have to wait until we get to my rooms. I'm certainly not having this conversation in the midst of a busy hallway."

Weaving through the hallways with a petulant Ginny walking behind her, glowering with her arms crossed under her chest was no doubt an amusing sight for the passing students (who were snickering, much to the consternation of Ginny herself).

Once they finally reached the entrance to the Head Girl rooms, Hermione spoke the password. The wall made a grinding noise before opening. She gestured for Ginny to enter.

The sitting room was actually quite lovely. It was designed as a place where prefect meetings could be held. It was also a place where anyone looking for her advice or counsel could have a meeting with her. The door opened into a spacious rectangular room with two individual red one seaters facing one another, as well as an oak coffee table between them. A long, slightly faded red couch (lumpy, yet surprisingly comfortable) faced towards the small brick fireplace. In front of the fireplace lay a worn, fluffy rust coloured rug. On said couch was an array of red blankets and gold cushions. The walls were dusted with warm orange torches, as well as a large window near the entrance to her bedroom that overlooked the grounds. On the other side of the room there's a bookshelf (packed with her private collection of books ranging from Muggle literature, textbooks and academic articles) and a small, round table. Overall, the room was very comfortable. It's a little bit too Gryffindor for her taste, but it does the job. Besides, Hermione reasoned, the school year had only just started. She'd have plenty of time to change the colours later.

"Ginny, before I lift the silencing charm, just know that I only silenced you because it would've caused a scene. And don't get mad at me for not being there, please? I had good reason to, trust me."

She harrumphed, but seemed a bit more placated now at least. Hermione indicated for Ginny to sit down. Once they were both seated comfortably on the bigger lounge, Hermione lifted the silencing charm. Ginny hesitated for a moment before continuing on where she left up, seemingly more contemplative.

"Look, Hermione, I wouldn't blame you for missing the celebration. It was your birthday, after all; you get to decide how you want to spend it. But, obviously, you weren't sick. You aren't forgetful or slack, Hermione. That just isn't you. If you were sick you would've made an effort to tell one of us, and if you were too sick to do that you would've went to the Hospital Wing. Also, I didn't even see you come back to your rooms. I was standing outside your rooms for ages - no doubt looking like a twit, I might add… considering I was there for an hour talking to a brick wall - even though people know where your rooms are it didn't make me look any more sane. Anyways, I knew you weren't sick, Hermione. Don't even try to lie about it," she shifted on the lounge so she was facing Hermione before sheepishly adding, "because I'd know if you were. You couldn't lie to save your life; you're bloody well terrible at it. Look, I care about you, Hermione. You don't have to tell me the details if it's private, but just know that you'll always have my support. If something's the matter, I'll be there for you."

"Oh, Gin, don't be mad at me for not sharing t-this with you. I just don't wan' to burden you all w-with my issues."

Ginny reached over and hugged Hermione. "I'm not mad at you, Hermione. I'm just a bit worried. It isn't like you to be so subdued." Ginny began to rub slow circles on Hermione's back, stroking her hair.

It wasn't until Hermione calmed down and pulled back from the embrace that she realised that she had been crying, so preoccupied was she in her own thoughts. Her face was wet and Ginny's collar was totally drenched with a combination of snot and tears.

"Oh, I'm sorry Ginny. Look at your shirt."

Ginny gave her an impish smile. "What are friends for?"

Perhaps she was losing her marbles, because that comment had her laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. And as a result, Ginny began laughing too. It would've been a ridiculous sight to walk in on: two girls laughing so hard there was no sound coming out - one sporting a snot ridden shirt and the other that no doubt looking like an escapee from the Janus Thickey Ward. Hermione shared this thought with Ginny. She was rewarded with another wave of high pitched wheezing. It took a few more minutes before they both managed to calm down and act relatively normal again.

Sighing and wiping her eyes, Hermione decided that perhaps it was a good idea to tell Ginny about last night. Maybe not about Ron, but why she wasn't at the party. She owed her that much, at least.

"Last night I was a bit… distressed, as you probably could've guessed from my little breakdown. So I went-"

"-to the Library?"

Hermione ignored the jest and continued, "to the Library. I stayed there until curfew. Once curfew was up, I went to the Kitchens. I got caught up in a book I was reading and forgot to check the time. And, being the extraordinarily fortunate person that I am, Professor Snape decided it was high time he drop by and dock an absurd amount of points from Gryffindor. He also gave me a weeks worth of detention."

"Hermione, I know that isn't the full story…"

"I know, Gin. But if I told you everything it would cause a big fight. And I don't want that." Hermione looked down at her hands and picked at her fingernails. She didn't want a situation like the Triwizard Tournament again. That was terrible. "Besides, I can handle it. I'm okay now, really."

Ginny, apparently ingesting this information, got up and stalked over to the bookshelf. She skimmed her finger across the leather bound spines. Seeming to reach a decision, she began to speak.

"Okay, I won't push you. But don't you dare think for a second that you have to carry the world on your shoulders, Hermione. I've known you for years now, and I know that you're incredibly stubborn. You like a challenge, and that's fine, but you shouldn't aim to do everything on your own. There's always been encouragement surrounding independence, but sometimes you need to step back and realise that you aren't invincible. You're an absolutely brilliant witch, I'll give you that, but at the end of the day you're only human. You are not burdening others by sharing the load. Remember that."

Ginny gave Hermione a sad smile before leaving the room, quietly closing the door on the way out. Hermione wondered when Ginny had become so grown up.

* * *

A/N This chapter was one of my favourites to write thus far. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

20th September, 1997

Saturday Evening

Hermione spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in her room. She could lie and say that she spent it productively, but she really didn't. Well, she finished her homework and study, but nothing substantial in the face of everything she could've gotten done. In fact, she was too busy thinking about what Ginny had said that morning. Maybe she was right. Hermione didn't like to concede defeat, but maybe she'd have to. But then again, if she told Ginny then Ginny would tell Harry. If she gave a specific request to Ginny to not tell Harry, Ginny would feel bad about keeping something from Harry. Hermione sighed audibly, rubbing her face in frustration. Perhaps, for now, she'd just keep her advice in mind. Gryffindors weren't known for discretion, but she'd work on it. She'd just have to train her inner Ravenclaw a bit more - she wasn't almost a hat stall for nothing.

Hermione sat down at their regular spots for dinner. Ron, Ginny and Harry hadn't arrived yet. Hermione looked up at the staff table, scanning for any missing teachers. It wasn't unusual for the teachers to miss meals. Voldemort's reign was still relevant, if more subdued; the teachers were often stretching themselves thin balancing their respective responsibilities. Professor Dumbledore shared a lot of things with Harry, but he always skated around the truth. Harry asked him once about the absences, but Dumbledore went back to the charade of dotty old man. It was strange, really. It seemed as though Dumbledore never told them anything he doesn't want them to know. Hermione snorted to herself. Well that was bloody obvious by now. They had been through so much already; his secrecy wasn't saving them any trauma. They faced a troll in their first year, for heaven's sake. They'd faced more in the past six years than most adults had in their entire magical lives. In fact, it would be nice, for once, to actually understand what was going on. Speaking of which, everyone who was above the age of seventeen was allowed to join the Order. Well, up until the minimum age requirement for the Order was increased to eighteen last year. Molly Weasley had a big part in that. And once Molly Weasley was in protective mother mode everyone knew better than to oppose her. Especially when said idea was accompanied with jam and scones. Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Something told her that it wasn't as simple as that (the protectiveness, not the scones). The plan was likely only permitted because it didn't clash with Dumbledore's. She wouldn't be surprised if he had ulterior motives that went swimmingly with Mrs Weasley's proposition. Perhaps now that she was eighteen she wouldn't feel so left in the dark. 

Voldemort was still substantial, but they didn't have a definitive plan on the attack. They'd simply been waiting for him to make the first move and then they'd retaliate in kind. Well, supposedly. She wouldn't be surprised if they were planning and plotting something behind their backs.Anyhow, Hogwarts was the safest place to be, so playing it from here was the most judicious choice. (Not to mention the fact that Voldemort was still wary of Dumbledore, and by extent, Hogwarts.) As of last year they'd managed to defeat the majority of Horcruxes with the help of Professor Dumbledore. He was reluctant to actually destroy the Horcruxes over fear of Voldemort rushing the school, but the fears never held warrant, it seemed; once Voldemort realised what was happening he backed off further, keeping Nagini closer than ever. 

Harry, Ron and herself had asked Dumbledore whether it was the right thing to do as they discussed their concerns over Voldemort's ability to make more. Dumbledore smiled sadly and explained that, _"Tom doesn't have enough soul left in him to split even once more. He is still incredibly strong in magical power, but he forgets the importance of spiritual strength. With Horcruxes comes many side effects so terrible that it's inconceivable to most witches and wizards to even consider splitting the soul once. The soul is unique; the vital force of our being; it is our whole persona that lives on even past our demise. Every time you split your soul you become less human. To split your soul is to disassociate yourself with all aspects of your being. Mental, physical, emotional… mind, body and spirit. Yes… very damaging, indeed. No soul is designed to be split once, let alone," he hesitated and glanced at Harry, "seven times."_

She couldn't help thinking that there was something he wasn't sharing with them. Something big. She had racked her brain over that conversation so many times to try to garner whether the hesitation was significant or just a figment of her overthinking brain. It had only ever led to a headache.

Professor Lupin glanced up from his plate and scanned the hall. His gaze moved to the Gryffindor table. Meeting Hermione's gaze, he gave her a friendly wink before turning back to his conversation. Moving down to the end of the table she saw Professor Snape, who was seated closest to the exit, flanked by Professor McGonagall and Sprout. He was pointedly ignoring both of them and picking at his meal. That was until Professor McGonagall said something to Sprout that caught his attention. Professor McGonagall looked quite miffed, actually. She should know. It was the same expression she wore when she came to her office to find Ron, Harry and herself sitting in front of her desk. That was a more regular occurrence than she cared to admit. She wondered fleetingly what they were talking about before turning back to her dinner. 

* * *

Minerva was fucking pissed off. A crude choice of words, yes, but true nevertheless. It was obvious that she had been trying to suppress her temper for most of dinner, actually. She had been talking to Pomona for the majority of dinner until her voice had raised, unchecked, another decibel. Minerva huffed indignantly. "I can't believe it! Fifty points? That's absolutely rridiculous!" Beware of the Scottish accent when the R's start rolling. He smirked. Fixing her glare to him, Minerva opened her mouth and then shut it again. There was silence for a few seconds while she no doubt put together the puzzle pieces. "Fine. What great tragedy occurred that required such a loss?" He looked at her blankly, the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips. Minerva was always a delight to wind up. "Indeed? I'm afraid I have no idea what it is you're referring to, Minerva. Perhaps you'd indulge me by sharing the details?" His lip twitched. "I'd hate for you to get any more… agitated."

"Don't play dumb with me, Severus," she hissed, exasperated. "I know it was you. Who else would deduct such an amount? To a Gryffindor, no less?"

Minerva paused for a moment. She was fighting a losing battle, he knew it. Minerva's Animagus form wasn't a cat for nought.

Any moment now.

"At least tell me what happened."

Severus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. He was rather enjoying having Minerva on tenterhooks. Perhaps he should stir her up more often. He'd forgotten how fun it was. Gryffindors were so easy to wind up; they worked themselves up in such a snit that they couldn't think straight. When Minerva's lips puckered into a thin line he decided that perhaps it was in his best interests to divulge her. Slytherins have a semblance of self-preservation, after all. It wouldn't do to have an indignant Minerva on his hands.

"Very well. I'll enlighten you. I was on my rounds around the castle for curfew and bumped into your favourite cub. She seems to think that her privileges give her free range to do what she likes, including nighttime wanderings."

"Hermione? What was she doing out that late? She isn't typically a rule breaker."

"I don't believe I even mentioned Miss Granger, Minerva. Surely you don't pick favourites?" He had the gratification of seeing her slightly colour. "How despicably Slytherin of you."

Her blush grew even more pronounced. "That's absurd. It was an assumption; I don't pick favourites," she said defensively.

He scoffed. "Of course not. You would never favour a student. A lowly Slytherin boy means the same to you as four arrogant Gryffindor boys."

Minerva visibly bristled. Frowning, she mumbled, "Severus, that's completely unrelated."

"Is it?" he snarled. "You accost me for favouritism with my Slytherins but seem to not mind giving your own house a vote of confidence."

Minerva sighed wearily. "Look, Severus, we are straying from the point. From what you've explained, that's a completely unreasonable punishment for something so small. Surely Miss Granger didn't do anything to garner such treatment?"

"I should think being Head Girl and staying out until the wee hours of the morning is significant enough for such _treatment_," he sneered. His eyes travelled over to the Slytherin table. "We wouldn't want students to pick up on such a _bad influence_, would we?"

Minerva obviously didn't pick up on the double entendre, so she continued. "Severus, be reasonable. Clearly something is out of the ordinary for Miss Granger if she's blatantly disregarding rules. Even something as simple as curfew." _Especially without Mr Potter and Mr Weasley's influence _was left unsaid.

_Out of the ordinary? I'd like to see a day where ordinary is normal in itself._

Standing, he announced, "I have a detention to oversee."

He smirked inwardly when once again he was exposed to the look on Minerva's face that told him that she was well aware of whose detention he'd be overseeing. His lip almost twitched when he heard an unintelligible exclamation in Scottish brogue. He swept out of the hall.

* * *

Ginny was the first one after Hermione to sit down at the table.

"Hey, 'Mione. Feeling a bit better?"

Hermione was slowly swirling her mash potato. She pierced a cut piece of green bean and popped the combination into her mouth. It seemed that the question only registered mid-chew. "Hmm? Oh yeah, fine."

"You broke up with Ron, didn't you?"

Hermione choked a bit on her food. Clearing her throat, she asked, "How did you know about that?"

"Well, it's relatively simple to put together, isn't it?" she quipped. "I'm just a perceptive friend, is all." Ginny said the last bit in a rush and stuffed her face with a bread roll, not entirely unlike Ron.

Hermione looked skeptically at Ginny.

Ginny glanced at Hermione. She chewed the remainder of her food and swallowed. Lazily poking her fork at her, she drawled, "Your skepticism wounds me."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

Ginny sighed. "Fine. Ron has told both Harry and I that you broke up amicably. Is that true? No fighting?" she asked disbelievingly. Ginny continued in a whisper, "It wouldn't have anything to do with what you got up to last night, right? You were more upset than you lead me to believe, weren't you?"  
  


Hermione felt a little bit out of her depth. She hadn't lied or hidden anything from her friends so frequently before. Sure, she'd told a few white lies to avoid hurting, for example, Ron (when he told her about anything Quidditch related), but this seemed different. It seemed almost wrong to lie to Ginny about it; it was like she was crossing a line in girl code.

_So much for discretion._

"Promise me you wont tell Harry?"

Something akin to panic stole behind Ginny's eyes. She blinked. "Hermione, I can't promise you that. That's asking for a lot."

"It's just that it will upset him, Ginny. I don't want to cause a fight. I just want to move on."

She glanced around the Great Hall, obviously debating something within herself. Sighing deeply she announced reluctantly, "Okay, but I have the right to tell him if it's anything dangerous or harmful."

"Deal. Ginny, I'm just going to disregard all semblance of subtlety. But you have to promise me _not _to freak out in the middle of the Great Hall," she mumbled.

"Okay. I can do that."

"And promise me you won't hold this against Ron."

Ginny frowned before slowly nodding. "Alright."

"Ron was cheating on me."

Ginny's fork cluttered to the ground. Hermione saw the telltale signs of Weasley indignation. (Ears nigh approaching colour of hair, if you're curious.) Quickly reaching over the table, Hermione covered Ginny's mouth with her hand.

"You promised."

Ginny took a steadying breath after Hermione pulled her hand away. "No wonder you were so upset last night. I'll crush my brother for lying about splitting amicably, the little…"

"Gin," she replied in what she hoped was a placating tone. "I told him to tell people that. I want people to think we broke up amicably."  
  


"What?! Why?!" she exclaimed, incredulous. Hermione gave her a quelling glare. She continued softly, "Why would you let him get away with this? He's my brother, yes, but that doesn't excuse him from cheating."

"We had been fighting for months; even yourself and Harry began to notice." Ginny nodded silently, beckoning for her to continue. Ginny knew Harry and herself had always thought of Hermione and Ron as an ideal couple. She could understand why Hermione would think that the arguing would have to be bad in order for them to notice that it was a problem. Those two had fought since they met; they'd accepted it as it was. "We were never a good couple when it comes down to it. We had chemistry at the start, yes, but never love. Not like how you and Harry love one another. We loved each other as friends and a crush got in the way of that. The relationship was enthralling at the start, but it burnt out quite quickly. I'm not completely angelic either though, Ginny. I'd been practically ignoring him almost all summer and ever since school came back. I'm not excusing his actions, but it's not worth getting worked up over." Hermione took another swig of pumpkin juice. "And, secretly, it's not completely altruistic of me. A small part of me doesn't want people to know that Ron's been cheating. Not just because of Harry. And not just because I don't want Ron's reputation hurt. A small part of me doesn't want people to know that I wasn't good enough to 'keep him'. Even though it makes no sense to blame me for that, I have no doubts that prejudiced Wizarding Society will."

Ginny picked her fork up off the floor and _scourgify_ed it. "I did think it was strange that Ron's vocabulary contained the word 'amicable'…" she mused. She sighed. "Alright, but you're mental if you think I'll just forget about this. Ron WILL be getting a piece of my mind."

Hermione gave her a cheeky, if sad, grin. "Just please be quiet about it. And whatever you do, please don't tell Harry. I don't want him to have to choose between us."

Ginny smiled sadly. "I understand."

At that moment, Ginny meant the words wholeheartedly. The tension was palpable with Ron's proclamation when they were on the Quidditch pitch that afternoon. Harry hadn't reacted badly to the news, per se, but it was quite clear that he wasn't dealing with it graciously, either. As his girlfriend, Ginny thought she knew Harry a little bit better than her brother. Ron cheating on Hermione would be a betrayal to Harry as much as it is to Hermione. That wasn't a statement to downplay Hermione's hurt, of course, but loyalty stemmed from within the depths of Harry's character. She loved him for it. But no matter how much Hermione assured him it was fine, he would feel obligated to back her up, however unnecessary the support. She knew he loved Hermione as a sister; it would be like him to feel the need to protect her, and if that meant a resolve to no longer talk to Ron in a not-so-misguided sense of devotion, he would. And if she were in her situation, Ginny could understand Hermione's reluctance for her own sake. Rita Skeeter may have died down a bit, but the press were still cruel. She wouldn't be surprised if they pulled out an article over Ron only cheating because of Hermione's "lack of feminine wiles".  
  


At that moment Ron and Harry made their way to the table from the double doors.

This apparently sparked Ginny's memory. "Oh, and Hermione?"

After shaking herself out of her contemplation, Hermione's concentration snapped back to Ginny. "Yes?"

"I'll lie for you and say that those detentions were because of something potions related."

"Oh, no, Ginny really it's oka-"

"It's the least I can do, trust me. Oh, and the greasy git just made a dramatic exit. Is that your cue?"

Hermione snapped to attention and quickly looked up to see Professor Snape missing from his seat.

She groaned.

* * *

Harry sat down next to Ginny, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting (much to the disgust of Ron). "Hey, what's with Hermione? Why did she run out of the hall like the library was on fire?"

Ginny whacked him on the arm. "That's the second time you've made that joke this week; I'll have to call up Fred and George," she grinned. "Anyhow, she had a detention with Snape after dinner. But with how he is it's best to leave when he _decides_ dinner is over." She nodded her head in the direction of the High Table. "Coincidentally, he decided dinner was over a few minutes ago."

Ron's face dawned with understanding (and perhaps relief, Ginny thought). "That explains it. I'd be out of here like there was ants in my pants if I had a detention with him, too."

"Why does she have a detention with Snape?" Harry asked, ever the perceptive friend. "I wouldn't typically question it, git that he is, but this is Hermione we're talking about."

Ron hummed in agreement; his mouth was already full with food.

Ginny sighed. "Snape wasn't impressed with the quality of her last potion," she explained. Seeing them both rise from their seats, she quickened to add, "even though it was good, it seemed like he still managed to find fault with it."

They both sat back down, the hopelessness of such a familiar predicament soaking in.

Harry scrubbed at his face. "Ruddy miserable sod. If anyone could find fault with Hermione's work, it would have to be him. You'd think Hermione cheated on her potions exam with how he acts."

_Speaking of cheating… _

"Ron, after dinner, I'd like to have a serious chat with you," she said. Ron looked at Harry for counsel, obviously quite confused with the change of topic. Ginny's expression softened marginally and she gave Harry an apologetic glance. Returning her gaze to Ron, her eyes hardened again. "Privately."

Hermione never said anything about not giving him a piece of her mind.

* * *

A/N Oh, I just love Minerva! She's one of my favourite characters after Hermione and Severus. But then again, all the characters have a special place in my heart :,). Reviews are great! You should try it! 10/10 would recommend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Saturday Evening

20th September, 1997

Hermione practically ran to the potions classroom. Technically she wasn't even late, but she wouldn't put it past him to use the opportunity to antagonise her further. As the old saying goes, better safe than sorry.

Taking a deep breath (and quite possibly mentally steeling herself), she knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Opening the door, Hermione came to stand near his desk where he was bent over marking some poor students essay. From his countenance and the angry red scrawls, it didn't seem as though the essay had much credibility.

There was near silence for a while; the only sound in the room was the scratching from the quill. Hermione was shifting on the spot and shuffling her feet; fighting the urge to visibly fidget. If he did this with the ambition of making her feel uncomfortable, he was doing a bloody good job of it.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he slashed the paper with a flourished 'D' and plopped the quill into the inkpot. He reached for another essay, and without looking up, droned, "Scrubbing cauldrons. There are plenty to be cleaned at the back of the class. No magic is to be used."

Hermione blinked. Like washing the dishes? She'd done that at home with her parents after dinner every night. After tales of bedpans being cleaned out and rats brains being pickled it all felt rather anticlimactic.

"_Is that_ _all?_"

She almost winced at her own stupidity. He paused and an inkblot formed on the tip of the parchment. He raised his eyes from the scroll and his eyes darkened to an even darker shade of black. "Unless you'd like to disembowel a barrel of horned toads?"

Hermione blanched. She didn't even have a toad like Neville, but the idea still made her squeamish. "No, sir."

She made her way to the back of the class. There was at least fifteen pewter cauldrons stacked hazardously on top of one another. Sighing, she pulled her hair back into a bun (well, tried to) and rolled back her sleeves. The quicker she begun, the quicker she'd be out of here, and the quicker she could fall back in bed and practice her _Occlumency_. If she were lucky she might even sneak in a bit of pleasure reading, too.

* * *

Insolent chit. Imagine complaining about an apparent _lack of work_ set in a detention. Never in all his seventeen years (_Merlin, had it been that long?_) of teaching did he think he'd hear a student complain about _not being punished harshly enough_. It seemed the detentions would be more a chore for _him_ than Miss Granger. He'd be surprised if he didn't take it upon himself to sever his ears off by the end of the week.

Insufferable.

He should set her to remove the wings from the Lacewing flies and chop off the anterior from the Flobberworms tomorrow. His potion stores needed replenishing.

He scribbled out a section of Mr Hall's work, writing a scathing comment in the margin. Yes, that would do just fine. Perhaps he'd even make it through tomorrow without having to listen to her prattle on and complain.

_Wishful thinking_, his mind supplied.

* * *

There.

It had taken about two hours, but she'd managed to clean every single one of them right down to the ever present stains from various volatile ingredients; she'd even reduced said stains to mere specks of discolouration.

She glanced at the front of the class where Professor Snape was sitting at his desk. Gods, did the man even move when it wasn't in dramatic swoops and sneers? She rubbed her hand over her face. She was loathe to admit that going two hours without talking had taken it out of her. Normally she would consider herself an introvert, but observing his almost misanthropic demeanour was almost enough to convince her that she was a prodigious extravert. Almost.

"Sir?"

His hand stilled over the parchment, and again, without looking up, asked in a stony, clipped voice, "What?"

"I'm finished."

Begrudgingly, he plopped the quill into the inkpot and pushed his chair back and stood. Quite theatrically, if Hermione thought so herself (though she wouldn't dare say out loud), he swept his robes around the corner of the desk and stalked towards the cauldrons.

He made a show of individually inspecting the cauldrons. He tilted the perspective of the cauldron, ran his fingers along the inside, and took great care in prolonging the process for as long as he could.

Hermione gritted her teeth.

He repeated the process until Hermione couldn't stand it any longer.

"May I be dismissed now, Professor?"

He smirked. He actually smirked.

"Now, now. We wouldn't want the classrooms' cauldrons to be contaminated, would we? What a disaster it would be, if I didn't check them thoroughly and they happened to explode during a demonstration. I'm simply doing my job, Miss Granger. Unless you're willing to be responsible for any mishaps?"

She felt her face flush with indignation. "I've been cleaning them the past two hours! I've been nothing but scrupulous!"

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Insolence, Miss Granger? Tut, tut. 5 points from Gryffindor. It would do you well to remember who you're speaking to."

She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from retaliating. She respected him, yes, but she certainly wasn't one to overlook mistreatment.

This continued on for another quarter of an hour until he'd deemed it _acceptable_. She'd left the class as soon as the words slipped from his lips, not giving him another excuse to stall her. Honestly, she'd never met someone who so perfectly fit the definition of petty!

It was roughly nine thirty when Hermione made it back to her rooms. She was planning on stopping by the Common Room but it was almost curfew anyhow. Besides, she really wanted to finish that chapter.

Entering her room, she finished getting ready for sleep and plopped down on the bed. Pulling the covers up to her chin, Hermione began to read. After an hour of reading and practicing, her eyelids began to droop and the blanketed warmth of sleep welcomed her to the land of nod.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sunday

21st September 1997

After finishing breakfast in the Great Hall, Ron, Harry, Ginny and herself went to the Gryffindor common room. Once they arrived in the comfortable, cozy confines of the common room they slinked off into their favourite corner. Hermione was both surprised and happy to see Neville and Seamus playing Wizarding chess. She suppressed a shiver, though. She couldn't help but have flashbacks to their first year when looking at the chessboard. When they approached Neville looked up and gave them a welcoming smile, but his face turned grim when he let his gaze wander back to the chessboard.

Neville sighed audibly. "Knight to E5"

Seamus grinned. "You know I 'ate to do this to ya, Neville, but you leave me no choice."

It was a matter of seconds before the Knight's head flew across the room and pinged against one of the portrait's brass frames.

Neville's eyes warily glanced at the dismembered head from his Knight. "That loses its charm after a while."

"It does when ya lose every game!" Seamus snickered.

Neville sighed again and turned towards them. "Hey guys."

They gave both Neville and Seamus a greeting and plopped down on the couch. They spoke about new developments ranging from Voldemort to the new flavours in Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Finally when they seemed to be caught up, Neville grinned brilliantly.

"It almost slipped my mind! Good luck in the Quidditch match this afternoon!"

"Yeah," Seamus nodded. "Heard that Slytherin reckons they got the best team this year, but they say that every year. Bit like the boy who cried werewolf, aye?"

Ron warmed to his insult. "Or that they've got the best training gear?"

Harry shook his head. "Or how Malfoy's the best seeker!"

She tried. She really did. She just couldn't pay attention to Quidditch. Oh, she didn't _hate _it. It just didn't interest her. Hermione could think of many different subjects she'd rather talk about. Like her current research regarding transfiguration and arithmancy, for example. Now that was an interesting thought. She'd been thinking about it on and off the past few days, actually. What she'd dismissed as a purposely thought provoking, albeit time consuming research project, could actually prove to have interesting results. The concept had copious amounts of gold stars next to its' merit the more the thought rolled around in her mind. Choosing your animagus form could be revolutionary, and perhaps even scary if the intentions turned seedy. Her precocious little side quest seemed to be growing its own legs and requesting, if it may sir, to walk. Her attention was drawn back to the conversation when she heard her name.

"Hermione, you'll be going, right?" Harry asked. "You're head girl. It would do you good to come to another Quidditch match. You've skipped the last one."

She inwardly sighed. If it weren't for the fact that she loved her friends dearly as the players and that she needed to represent some house spirit, then the likelihood of her attending would plummet. Damn Harry for appealing to her sense of responsibility, rationality and sentiment all in one.

Hermione made a show of sighing melodramatically. "Well, since you've asked me so kindly it would be _very_ rude of me to refuse."

She received boyish smiles from the boys and a small, appreciative smile from Ginny.

* * *

Hermione sat up in the Gryffindor stands with a gold and red scarf tucked around her neck and a book nestled under her arm. It wasn't particularly cold, but the wind had picked up a bit and it had a frosty September bite. She was sitting in the teachers box, actually. It seemed strange to not be down there with the other Gryffindors, screaming her throat hoarse. Head Boy and Girl were encouraged to not show favourites (though you were allowed to back your own house and cheer, of course, but it was hinted at to be unbiased). They were permitted to sit anywhere they wanted, technically, but it was much more inclusive to sit on equal ground. _Besides_, she reasoned with herself, _I can see the game much better from here and at the end of the match I can migrate to the Gryffindor stands again._

She was knocked out of her reverie when Anthony Goldstein sat down next to her. "Tough work this being a Head Boy and Girl, isn't it?"

She blinked at the conversation starter. "How do you mean?"

"Well, we're stuck up here while our houses are down there. It feels strange amongst the teachers. It's especially draining, I find, when it's your own team playing and you want to be apart of it all," he explained.

Hermione nodded in understanding. "I was just thinking that, actually, before you arrived. I know I have every right to be up here, but I feel like an interloper amongst the teachers. It's nothing like the choking patriarchy in the house stands."

Anthony smiled. "Exactly."

They spoke for a few more minutes then lapped into silence and watched the game. Ron was doing a fantastic job at goalkeeping and Gryffindor was currently in the lead at 20-0. She was watching the game when she became increasingly aware of the fact that Anthony was shifting nervously in the seat next to her.

"Actually, I wanted to ask…"

He hesitated.

"You wanted to ask… what?" she prompted, not unkindly. She turned her attention from the game to look at him.

"Well… I've heard some… _rumours_ about Ron and yourself."

Hermione sighed. "That we split up?"

Anthony blinked owlishly, obviously rather shocked that she knew of said rumours. _And that I wasn't outright denying the claim, _Hermione added mentally_._ "Well, yes, actually."

Hermione gave Anthony her best impression of a reassuring smile. "Yes, and I'm okay with it. Things weren't going great on either of our ends; it was kinder to both myself and Ron to both end it - mutually, I might add."

Anthony seemed pleased with her answer.

"Oh. Yeah, no, I understand," he exhaled. "Sometimes things just aren't meant to be, I guess."

He chanced a calculating glance at Hermione.

"Though I doubt you're one to believe that trollop considering third year divination," he mused. His lips quirked into a mischievous grin. "Professor Trelawney may just swoop down and swoon over such a statement."

Hermione's startled but amused laughter rang out over the roaring of the crowd.

* * *

After the Quidditch match Hermione joined them in the stands and congratulated them on their victory. After that, they headed up to the common room where she spent the rest of the afternoon with her friends. There was still obvious tension between herself and Ron (and Ginny on her behalf), but they were by no means volatile. She enjoyed herself by catching up with them in front of the hearth in the common room, and things felt like old times once more. It was moments like these that she almost forgot all about the war that plagued them. The stresses that were placed upon them often sat bitter upon their tongues and poisoned these good times, but not tonight. Tonight there was a silent agreement to enjoy, savour and reminisce. Such savouring and enjoying was doubled when Harry pulled out a few bottles of Rosmerta's butterbeer he had left over from the last Hogsmeade trip.  
  


"I think it's about time we head to dinner," Harry sighed regretfully, casting a quick _Evanesco_ on the empty bottles.

"I've had fun," Ginny smiled, lifting Harry off the ground with her proffered hand. Her hand squeezed Harry's and she sent him a sultry grin. "I wouldn't mind having some more fun later, though."

Harry blushed furiously. Ron spluttered.

"GINNY! I'm your brother! I don't want to hear this - especially when you're talking about my best mate!" Ron groaned.

For once Hermione didn't reprimand Ron. She didn't feel particularly love strung after the nightmare that is Lavender Brown and Ronald Weasley _vigorously_ canoodling in a rose bush. She felt sick at the memory, and her eyes stung again.

"Fine, I'll keep it kid friendly from now on, Ickle Ronniekins. We wouldn't want you to lose your _frail_ appetite," Ginny retorted with a sarcastic lilt to her voice.

Ron promptly shut up and they went to dinner, where Hermione ate and then left for her second night of detention.

* * *

"Enter."

"Good evening, sir."

He ignored her greeting and lazily waved his arm in the general direction of the back of the class. "Today you'll be preparing ingredients for the stores. Remove the wings from the lacewing flies and the anterior from the flobberworms." He lowered his head and dipped his quill. _Almost like clockwork_, she mused. After a few moments, he looked up once again and snapped, "Well, what are you waiting for? I trust that I won't have to supervise you despite your general incompetence with all things potions?"

"Yes, sir," she replied dutifully. The comment about her "general incompetence" slipped by in her haze of excitement over the prospect of doing something half-worthwhile.

It was better than scrubbing cauldrons.

Her optimistic attitude faded rather quickly when the excitement died down. She unceremoniously tossed the last flobberworm anterior into the bucket and sighed. It wasn't difficult, but it was tedious - and she hated tedious. Tedious because third years could do the job she was doing currently. The only difference was that she did it with exceeding care, not petulant resignation. She frowned thoughtfully, biting her lip. Well, resignation, yes, petulance, no. Still, she couldn't help wondering about all the things she could be doing instead.

She rubbed her face. _Why did it have to be Professor Snape, of all people, to catch her? _At least Professor McGonagall would've been more forgiving. Come to think of it, Professor McGonagall would probably use the opportunity to claim a catch-up-chat under the pretense of detention. She smiled fondly. Then she would "make her" mark the first year essays. Professor McGonagall, like most of the professors, found marking most of the first years' essays lacklustre. And, Hermione added mentally, said essays could be a claim for punishment if anyone asked. Her brow furrowed. _Wasn't Professor McGonagall a hat stall for Ravenclaw? _She was quite certain, but decided to make a mental note to check Hogwarts: A History just to make sure. She smiled. If so, Professor McGonagall just became even more likeable to Hermione, if that were at all possible.

* * *

He'd taken a break after his hand began to cramp. After the last of his classes he'd started on multiple rudimentary potions for the infirmary, and the strain of continuously stirring, chopping and dicing on top of marking a multitude of built up essays was causing his hand to cramp. Not to mention the meeting he'd attended last night, in which his _Master _had so generously gifted all his doting fan club a taste of the _Cruciatus_ curse. The Dark Lord was constantly unsatisfied, and took his anger out on his followers for their incompetence in the war against The Boy Who Lived. Such frustration was amplified when his spy was yielding less than fruitful information. A cramping hand and the usual aching joints that accommodated the curse was equivalent, in the Dark Lord's reptilian eyes, to getting out of trouble with a slap on the wrist. He was used to it. In fact, it was a pain he generally welcomed as routine.

He flexed his hand experimentally and felt the tell-tale twinge of discomfort. Oh, the Dark Lord would never injure his hands in a way that would stop him from supplying him his various potions, because, after all, a Potions Master needs his hands, but he'd incapacitate him in a way that would ensure his discomfort, not the quality of potions he produced.

Severus placed his quill down on the desk and glanced up to the back of the class to find Miss Granger standing still, staring at seemingly nothing, a multitude of emotions and expressions flashing across her face. He was almost amused at the multitude of emotions he saw, though he'd sooner give points to a Gryffindor than admit it. She went from biting her lip in concentration to a serene, wistful smile.

"Miss Granger, perhaps you'd like to share what makes the table such an interesting subject?" he drawled.

She startled, apparently having gotten lost in her reverie. "Nothing, sir. I've finished my work."

He stood and made his way to the back of the room. Peering into the bucket he felt a strong desire to give into his petulant wish of knocking it over.

_Perfect, as always._

He scanned the bucket and then looked at Miss Granger's face. She wore a smug smile. Oh how he loathed the chit. She knew there was no way he could prolong the appraisal, and that she had prepared the ingredients to the exacting standard, if not more so.

"Acceptable. Now get out," he barked.

Her smile unsettled him. "Yes, sir. Have a good night."

Severus stared at the closed door for a few moments, a puzzled look passing over his features, before his face fell into its usual inscrutable mask.

He returned to his desk.

* * *

As soon as Hermione was outside the class her lips quirked into a small smile. _A small victory, but a victory nevertheless._

* * *

A/N Ginny seems a bit pissed off at Ron. Rightfully so, though, right? Also, please, please review if you haven’t already, or even if you have already reviewed- I love ‘EM, and I’m addicted. Like drugs. KIDDING! I’m not a drug addict. You get what I mean. Don’t do drugs, kids. Or if you don’t like reviewing, how about a Kudos? It only takes a second. Ok I’ll stop begging. Next chapter coming soon. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

A/N This is a shorter chapter, and a teensy bit boring as I sort of had to set a few things up. It will be a little while until I can write and post Chapter 8. The wait won't be too long; two or three days at worse. But yeah. Quality over quantity, right? :) Okay, on with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Wednesday Evening

24th September 1997

The week wore on much the same as every week, excluding the detentions. Professor Snape had been his same cankerous self, if more… well, she couldn't describe it as polite, or even lenient, but he'd consciously _not_ bitten her head off _too_ much. He'd even started to warm to her greetings. Okay, okay, not warm, per se, but he did answer her "Good evening, Professor" with a nod of acknowledgement. In a normal person, Hermione guessed that that was as good as a greeting in return.

Between detentions and the mundane usual, Hermione had been working on developing her personal research task regarding Transfiguration and Arithmancy. She had borrowed a multitude of books from the library and was reading up on existing experiments surrounding Animagus's. She had even gone so far as to order a few owl-post subscriptions to the Arithmancy and Transfiguration academic journals, refreshing and familiarising herself with the community and the leaps and bounds (or lack thereof) within the community. So far she had found a few obscure texts that referenced the use of arithmancy in their research, but none that had openly confessed to using the two subjects together in such a fundamental fashion.

Hermione also found no mention of experimentation with the two subjects regarding Animagi, and she couldn't understand why. Hermione was both scared and exhilarated at the thought. Scared because that meant there was no previous research to fall back on, yet exhilarated at the challenges and prospects it presented. But she was also confused. Was it really such a taboo subject, or was wizard kind just averse to change? She could understand not wanting to play with something as dangerous as Human Transfiguration, but that didn't mean that the theory was off limits, did it? She'd have to ask Professor McGonagall.

It was currently day five of detention and Hermione was, well, for lack of a better word, daydreaming. She had finished her work, but Professor Snape had snapped at her previously for "rushing" (for the record, she hadn't rushed. She wasn't half so dim-witted to rush potions and the preparation of potions ingredients; she merely finished early), so she sat waiting to be dismissed, and in the meantime was mentally tossing a new thought back and forth, one that occurred to her yesterday morning during breakfast.

Peter Pettigrew and Rita Skeeter managed to run around, hide, and spy on people as unregistered Animagi, and ended up gathering a lot of information, and they were only one person. Having thirty odd Order members situated in prime Death Eater territory in their Animagus form could yield a hell-of-a-lot more results than even that. You would get suspicious if information was leaked consistently, and would probably recognise an Animagus if the same animal kept appearing, but nobody would expect thirty animals that were constantly interchanging; there would be no pattern. It would drive them mad. It would escalate the metaphorical 'fly on the wall' to a whole new level.

What if she developed a project that allowed the user to, one, become an Animagus without the lengthy process ritual, and two, see the form before morphing? She could use arithmetic equations to toss around the variables, predictions and results. She already knew from prior research that it was impossible to manipulate the possible outcomes of Human Transfiguration Animagi, but it should be possible to shorten the ritual with Arithmancy calculations, and it should also be possible to use equations to predict the form someone's Animagus may take. Both are complementary to each other, too, as a user who already knows their Animagus form could transform faster, and a lot more safely. If Hermione's research came to fruition, then those that knew their form could research said biological form, bone structure and appearance, ensuring their safety and also speeding up the entire procedure in the process.

But would the other Order members even trust her idea?

She couldn't be certain of their support.

Perhaps she would just develop it on her own.

* * *

He would admit it only to himself, but he was curious. Curious as to what had Miss Granger staring off into space. Severus could practically hear the cogs turning in her mind.

"Miss Granger, is it a recently developed habit of yours to stare into space?"

She seemed to have forgotten she was even in the room. Blinking, she turned her brown eyes towards him and opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"Well?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. I was simply thinking."

"Thinking?"

Her eyebrows furrowed together and those brown eyes blinked yet again. "Yes."

A scowl pulled at the corners of his mouth. She was purposely being short with him. He was momentarily surprised at the Slytherin tactic: admit the least amount of information possible, and only when necessary. Well, if she wanted to play it that way, she was jousting with the best. "I didn't realise you were capable, considering the fact that all that ever comes out of that mouth of yours is copied from some form of literature. Original thinking does not become you, Miss Granger."

Tears swelled in her eyes, but they quickly became tears of irritation.

"I'm perfectly capable of original thinking, thank you very much!" she exclaimed. Her cheeks were flushed red with indignation, and her hair was subtly crackling with magic.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow, unconcerned about the lack of respect she was showing him. "Then tell me what it is you were thinking about. Prove me wrong."

After a moment of hesitation on her part, she began to tell him. Each sentence was punctuated with silence while she thought of ways to prove him wrong, yet not prove to him anything at all. He was loathe to admit that she wasn't as naïve and easy to manipulate as he had first thought.

"Fine. I've been thinking of something. Something that could change not only my life, but the lives of those around me. I'm not sure what to do just yet with the information, or exactly what effect it will have on the cause, but I have a feeling that it's something big, something that could possibly change the tides. If I go through with it, it'll be a big responsibility, and I'm not sure whether people would trust me with it. I'm eighteen, and already Molly Weasley and the majority of the Order Members still think I'm too young to even have word of what's going on in the world. How will they trust my research and conclusions if I decide to go through with it and express it?"

Now he was positively intrigued, but he refused to show it. To show her that he was intrigued was as good as playing the ball into her court with a munted racquet. _Well played, Miss Granger, you've unconsciously put me in a difficult position. Pride or curiosity, which will win out?_ Predictably, pride did. It was the only thing he had left these days. It did sound quite serious though, and sounded like something related to Order Business. And it was quite clear it was secretive. He wouldn't be surprised if he was the first person she told. His chest felt suddenly warm. He'd have to stop entertaining the house elves by eating the fatty, rich foods they kept placing on the table near his seat (a not-so-subtle attempt to fatten him up). Perhaps Minerva was right. Maybe the girl was going through something. Or is at least distracted with something.

"I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question, Miss Granger. Have you finished your work?"

She nodded.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow night at the same time."

She cleared her stuff off the desk and cast a quick cleansing charm, then made her way to the door. As was clockwork, just before she reached the door, she turned back.

"Goodnight, Professor Snape. Have a pleasant rest of your evening." With a quick smile she stepped into the hallway.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."

Just as she stood frozen in shock to finally have gotten a reply out of him, he flicked his wand and the door slammed shut behind her.

He chuckled, a deep and sonorous sound.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N Oop- is that a plot development I see?

Chapter 8  
  
Saturday Evening

September 27th

“Absolutely not.”

“Severus, you’re in need of an assistant. Whether you agree or not, she’s the most logical choice. Miss Granger has been attending detentions for the past week, and in that time you’ve been under significantly less stress.” He held up a hand. “Don’t try to deny it. You’re eating better and more frequently, your skin has regained a modicum of colour, losing some of its yellow pallor, and your eyes are no longer so bloodshot.”

Severus grunted noncommittally. Miss Granger had been helpful, and it nearly killed him to admit it even in his mind. Her doing the grunt work had taken significant strain off his shoulders, however unintentional. Between playing the diligent double spy, being a Professor and being the Potions Master for The Dark Lord and the Hospital Wing, he had little time to even indulge in something as simple as pleasure reading. The splitting headaches and taut, aching muscles in his shoulders were proof of that. Perhaps his age was finally catching up to him, or the countless sleepless nights were suddenly requesting comeuppance in the form of delusion, but Severus found that he wasn’t completely against the idea. He wasn’t pleased about it, but it could’ve been worse. He imagined Potter next to him, chopping valerian roots at completely the wrong angle, looking every bit like his father. Severus shuddered. Yes, it definitely could’ve been worse.

“She can help you with ingredient preparation and basic potions,” he stated as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth. “She’s aware of your position should you have to leave for a meeting, she’s a hard worker, she’s intelligent and if I may say so myself, you seem to be complaining of Miss Granger significantly less than before.”

Merlin, how he hated that his eyes twinkled over the latter statement.

“Very well,” Severus growled. “It’s not as if I have a choice. ”

Albus frowned momentarily. “Severus, my boy. Although it started much like that, I fear that if anything, I owe you. You have paid your dues many times over, and if the war were not progressing so violently, I would’ve released you from your Vow long ago.” Albus looked up at him, the moonlight basking both his features and the desk in pale light. It made the worry lines stand out on his face, and he looked every part of an old man at that moment; not at all like the greatest wizard of their time. Severus looked away. “You have paid your penance. For every time you leave the castle to visit Tom, you put yourself in danger. But you must understand, Severus, that I have no choice but to utilise your position to our advantage. But I want to help you where I can. Let Miss Granger work with you. If I can’t release you of your duties, at least let me see you less sleep deprived and overworked.”

Severus snorted without humour; a dejected sound that escaped from the back of his throat. “I cannot repay her. I killed her. I killed them all. Every time I close my eyes I see her dying over and over again. As well as every man, every woman, and every child. Children, Albus, children.” His voice was hoarse with repressed emotion, and he struggled to pull up his shields. “Their faces are engraved in my being, and nothing I can do can bring them back. I have repaid nothing. You know what I’ve ‘had’ to do. But there’s always a choice. Always. I could’ve saved them-”

Albus’s voice was calm and patient, not at all unlike how a social worker attempts to calm a distraught client about to blow a fuse. It angered Severus more. “You couldn’t have saved them, Severus. There’s nothing you could do. It’s for the greater-”

“The greater good. Oh, yes, I’ve heard it all before,” Severus snarled. His molars were hurting from grinding them.

“Severus, you are not to blame for things that are out of your control; you cannot change the past. For all intents and purposes, you are a good man. An evil man would hold no, or little, remorse and regret. But you, Severus, have shown many times over your regret. You are a good man. Believe it, my boy.”

He turned back to Albus and looked into his eyes. Albus, the only father figure he had in his life. It annoyed him before, when Albus would call him boy, but to some attention starved part of his subconscious (that likely camped out there from his childhood), it felt like a form of acceptance.

“I will let Miss Granger know tonight, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled madly yet again, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Of course not. I would expect nothing less.”

He turned to leave. Just as he stepped onto the step, Albus spoke again.

“And Severus? You might even find her company enjoyable.”

The Headmaster laughed when a wry hex scattered his papers all over the floor.

* * *

“Enter.” 

She fleetingly wondered whether it would be worth it to suggest a book of synonyms for the word “enter”, but quickly dismissed it after remembering who it was she was thinking of and how well her teasing would go down. She shivered. _ My one week of detention would look like a play date in comparison to the word lashing I’d get. _

“Hello, sir.”

“Miss Granger, I’d like to speak to you about something,” he stated brusquely as soon as she made it to her work table. 

Realising that her jaw had quite literally dropped, she quickly snapped it shut with a small ‘pop’. 

“Yes, sir?” she asked. She tried very hard to remember the last time she broke into the potions stores for one of the more harebrained ideas Harry and Ron suggested.

“Unfortunately for me, Headmaster Dumbledore believes that having an annoying Muggleborn assistant, namely one Miss Granger, could be beneficial for efficiency purposes. The hospital wing has basic potion orders that need to be brewed, bottled and supplied. Ingredients in the store room need to be either ordered or foraged, and then after that, prepared, sorted and organised. It is of no consequence to me what you pick.”

Silence.

“Are you asking me to be your assistant?”

She certainly hadn’t expected that. If anything, she thought that as soon as she left today he would say “good riddance” and slam the door. Obviously Professor Dumbledore was strongly encouraging him, but she really didn’t see Professor Snape as the type of person to do something he didn’t want to do if it wasn’t necessary. 

“I thought you had a modicum of intelligence, Miss Granger. Must I repeat everything I say in layman’s terms?”

She ignored his jest. She was nearly salivating at the idea of watching and learning from a Potions Master. She wondered whether he’d let her watch him make the more difficult potions— like Wolfsbane. “I’ll be your potions assistant,” she agreed. “How does that work, though? Is there a schedule?”

He straightened up and moved to his desk. She followed. Taking a seat, he continued. “The school will pay you for your work, but I will oversee your payment. The school budget is significantly… stunted… but you will get a small sum of money fortnightly to spend how you wish.” He scribbled her expected salary on a piece of parchment and passed it to her. Hermione’s eyes widened. He wasn’t wrong about it not being a lot, but to Hermione, who wasn’t even expecting payment, it seemed like a fair bit. “You’re not to touch my experiments. All your brewing will be overseen by me. If I’m called to a meeting, you will go back to your common room. We will meet on Tuesday and Thursday evenings at six o’clock in the great hall for supper. As unfortunate as the idea seems to you and your Gryffinor friends to sit with the greasy bat for dinner at these times, it’s necessary, I assure you. All assistants taken on by Hogwarts Professors are made to sit at the staff table; they’re seen as a training member of staff, but a member of staff nevertheless. Staff cannot sit at students tables, but since you’re only working actively as an assistant on these days, it works as a loophole. So technically you’re both an assistant and a student on the days you don’t work, so you may sit wherever you like. On Tuesdays and Thursdays you’re not considered a student, even though you still attend classes, so you’re to sit with the other Professors.”

Hermione was quite overwhelmed with the amount of information she was being given, and was wishing desperately for a notepad and quill to start jotting down notes. And the fact that the taciturn Professor Snape had said more than two sentences to her, and, on top of that, was offering her such an opportunity, left her wanting to pinch herself. Was she dreaming? She was used to having weird dreams, and this would have made a lot more sense if it was simply something her brain conjured up in the wee hours of the morning. “Do I need to sign something, or…?”

If Hermione wasn’t so distracted trying to absorb the information, and questioning her state of consciousness, she probably would’ve noticed the way his lips quirked slightly upwards. He immediately frowned again. “No, a simple magical verbal agreement will do. Apprentices and assistants usually repeat the same creed, as the two are quite interchangeable, with apprentices being there for work experience, and assistants applying for sum. It’s like a Vow, but it can be canceled by the Master or the assistant/apprentice. It can also run out with time, but it can be renewed after 12 months, should they want to continue.” He stood and gestured for her to take her wand out. “Simply repeat what I say, but change the names and intentions around.”

He stood, pulled out his wand and began to speak. “I, Potions Master Severus Tobias Snape, pronounce Hermione Jean Granger as my Potions assistant here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Hermione swallowed. A red magic shot out of his wand and danced between them. She knew she was being impulsive, but she didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Her friends would probably be upset with her for taking such a big leap without telling them, but it was only for two days a week. Besides, she liked Potions, even if it wasn’t her favourite subject; she liked them all anyway. She also liked learning new things. There was even the added bonus of payment. Having a few extra galleons to splurge on some of Rosmerta's butterbeer would help convince them, too. Taking a deep breath, she spoke. “I, Hermione Jean Granger, agree to be the assistant of Potions Master Severus Tobias Snape here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Blue magic shot out of her wand and combined with his, making a vibrant purple. It wrapped itself and its tendrils around their wands and their wrists. It felt oddly personal, and she supposed it was. Magic was indicative of a person's very being. She felt a chill go down her spine, and it felt suspiciously delicious. She shivered. Just as quickly as the magic combined and wrapped itself around them, it disappeared, leaving nothing in its wake.

Professor Snape stood stiffly. His hands were clenched at his sides; his knuckles white. “You’re free to go now, Miss Granger. I will see you Tuesday evening.”

“Okay, Professor, have a good eve-”

“Get out.”

Her eyes widened and she quickly left, hearing the door slam behind her. She wondered what caused the quick change in countenance, but after summing it up to normal Snape-ish behaviour, she let it go. Besides, she was much too happy with having been given the opportunities she had to care too much. She was definitely stopping by the Common room to let Ginny know. Ginny would also probably have a few ideas on how to break the news to the boys without a full blown dispute.

* * *

Severus hadn’t expected that. He had had his magic meld with Albus’s when he made the Unbreakable Vow, but never had it felt like that. It was as if her magic had tenderly stroked his insides and whispered sweet nothings along his spine. Retreating to his study, he opened his liquor cabinet, poured himself a stiff drink of whiskey, and threw it back. The burning sensation the liquor sent down his throat to his oesophagus was grounding. Lowering himself onto his leather chair facing the fireplace, Severus pinched his nose and sighed. He refused to read into it. It was likely just the feel of the magic activating.  
  


The fire danced, and the flames licked at the wood. The only sound was his harsh breathing and the fire’s consistent crackles.

  
  


He poured another drink.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Tuesday Evening

30th September

Hermione could hardly believe it. She knew she signed up to be an assistant, but she never really believed it until now. Admittedly, she had entertained the idea of returning to Hogwarts to teach when she was older. In fact, it was probably one of Hermione’s dream jobs. Implementing that love of learning in others, and sharing her knowledge for the better sounded great; she wanted to do some good in the world. And what better way to achieve that good than to teach the future generations? Crafting the minds of the succeeding witches and wizards ahead of them was the Wizarding World's greatest hope for a unified, undivided world. It was tempting, and definitely an option she was considering.   
  


Harry and Ron hadn’t taken the assistant news well, but eventually they let it go. They were obvious about what they thought of Hermione being _ his _ assistant, but they accepted the decision readily (though with bad grace) when Hermione gave them her patented “I know what I’m doing, I’m not stupid, and I’m an independent woman; I don’t appreciate you thinking you have any right to control me” scowl. Ron didn’t complain as much as Harry, and she had a sneaking suspicion it was because he felt as if he owed her, even if it meant sucking up the fact that one of his best friends was working with ‘The Dungeon Bat’. Said sucking up became easier when Hermione told them that it was only a twice-a-week thing. That mollified them to bearable proportions. Harry did kick up a bit of a stink when she mentioned money as one of the bonuses of working with Professor Snape, though. Bless him; his heart was in the right place, and it was rather sweet in a boyish way.

_ “Hermione, if you needed money you should’ve just said something. I’ll give you all the money you need.” He looked up at the High Table and glared at Snape, who was looking for all the world as if his dinner was offensive to him. “You shouldn’t have to work with that git because of it. I love you like a sister, and I don’t want you worrying about money when I have plenty to go around.” _

_ Ginny rolled her eyes. “The money was just a bonus, you nitwit. And as sweet as your intention, Harry, you shouldn’t offer money to a girl like that. Even if it _ is _ Hermione,” Ginny explained. Harry blinked owlishly at her behind his round-frame spectacles. Ginny sighed and decided to elaborate. “You sound like her keeper, or a rich guy with his mistress- minus the whole ‘I love you like a sister’ part.” _

_ Harry went beet red and stammered out an apology, thoroughly embarrassed at the comparison. _

_ They all lost it and began to laugh at Harry’s expression. Even Harry joined in at his own expense. _

_ When the laughter died down, Ginny leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Hermione only caught the words ‘kind’ and ‘sweet’, but she got the main gist of the comment. Her suspicions were confirmed when Harry blushed yet again and shot Ginny a toothy grin. _

The staff had obviously been previously told of the whole assistant arrangement, as when she sat down that evening she was greeted by no exclamations of surprise, but rather warm greetings and congratulations from the various staff members. Some in the form of a warm smile, some with a respectable tilt of the head, and in Hagrid’s case, as he was walking past to sit next to McGonagall and Dumbledore, a large grin and a slap on the back that nearly caused her to deepthroat a shepherds-pie-laden-spoon in front of the entire student body.

She heard a soft snort of laughter from Professor Lupin and gifted him a venomous glare, which was softened significantly when she lost her resolve and smiled.

After she’d managed to regain her bearings after that near traumatic, almost embarrassing predicament, she heard an excited, high-pitched exclamation two seats from her left past Professor Lupin. She gave him an apologetic smile, as she had to ask him to lean forward to be able to see Professor Flitwick properly, even with the Charms Professor’s magic equivalent of a muggle booster seat.

“Hello, Miss Granger!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, his usual exuberant, optimistic self. “It’s so nice to have you as part of the staff, temporary or no! Are you looking forward to being an assistant? It’s a good learning opportunity I’d say; Severus is very good at what he does; one of the best in the business. Isn’t that right, Severus?” he asked, trying to see past Hermione. Professor Snape scowled and pointedly ignored him. Professor Flitwick continued on for another few minutes, totally unconcerned with Snape’s lack of involvement in the conversation. Occasionally he’d pause to give her time to answer a question, but she secretly suspected it was more than likely just an excuse to catch his breath so he could continue.

After dinner was finished, and everybody was clearing out of the Great Hall, Hermione suddenly remembered her resolve to speak to Professor McGonagall. She was meant to do so during dinner, but was obviously a little bit distracted. It probably wasn’t a good idea to hold up Professor Snape, but he had already swept out of the hall in his typical dramatic robe-swirling fashion, and she honestly didn’t think he’d be able to tell if she were a minute or two late. Besides, it was important. Well, important for the development of her little elaborate project, and she needed the advice from a qualified Animagus. A few of the questions she wanted to ask needed expertise; she couldn’t completely trust academic journals and books- Professor Snape had already drilled _ that _ into her by sixth year, with all the scathing comments she was gifted in the margins of her essay. 

She had ignored the jibes directed at her “lack of ability to think for herself” and “her dependance on books” as a child, thinking that he was just using any excuse he could to find fault with her work, but as she grew up she took his criticism in stride, and started to provide a little introspection with her essays, and more often than not, Hermione cross referenced material to eliminate any concerns about the validity of the information presented within, no longer blindly (and she supposed naïvely) trusting the author to provide unbiased, reliable information. He still marked her down, and maybe it was just her imagination, but the scathing comments seemed to have lost most of their sting. No longer was it _ solely _ about her lack of originality, or the references she used, but rather a jab at her logic, or a vitriolic critique purposely saved for the parts of the essay where she fell back into Old-Hermione textbook mode. 

Exiting the hall through the teacher’s entrance, Hermione spotted Professor McGonagall. Taking off at a very undignified walk-run, Hermione caught up to her.

“Professor McGonagall, may I speak to you for a moment about something?” she asked.

Professor McGonagall stopped for a moment, her lips thinned. “Of course, Miss Granger. As you know, classes are over for today, but I’d be happy to have a visitor for a cup of tea. I was just heading to my office now.” 

Hermione’s smile faltered; she suddenly felt more than a little bit guilty. “Actually, is it okay if we organise a meeting, say, tomorrow? I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about Transfiguration that I’m curious about, and I’m afraid I don’t have time to elaborate on them right now. I have work with Professor Snape, and I don’t think he’d appreciate my being late. You see, I was going to ask you during dinner but… I, uhm, never got the opportunity.”

Professor McGonagall made a strange noise, as if she were about to laugh, thought better of it, then decided on a cough to abort said laugh, then ended up with a disturbingly funny concoction of both. “No, I wouldn’t want you to be late where Professor Snape is concerned. Tomorrow evening after supper is fine. I believe I still have some Jaffa cakes left over from last time.”

Hermione gave her a parting smile and was about to immediately sprint to the dungeons when Professor McGonagall spoke again.

“And Miss Granger?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her stern, thin lips.

“Yes?”

“Filius means well, but if you ever want to talk to somebody else and he’s caught up in a story, simply tell him so. I promise you, you will not hurt his feelings.”

Hermione let out a surprised laugh. “Thank you, Professor.”

She quickly made haste to the dungeons.

* * *

“You’re late.”

“I apologise. I was talking to Professor McGonagall about something. It won’t happen again,” Hermione promised. She had run all the way down to Potions class, and so her explanation was punctuated with little puffs.

“See to it that it won’t. Ten points from Gryffinor.”

Hermione was about to argue over the fact that she was assisting him, and that he had no business punishing her house for her being a minute late for something not related to school, but thought better of it when she met his black glaring eyes. She settled for crossing her arms across her chest instead.

“Your show of petty defiance is charming, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape sneered. “Now follow me.”

She uncrossed her arms and sighed, following him to the front of the class. At her look of confusion, he smirked smugly. 

He waved his hand over the wall, and it melted away. She was momentarily impressed with the spell work, but somewhere in the back of her mind she felt as if it wasn’t as secure as she had expected. Her doubt was immediately thrown into the metaphorical incinerator when a set of complicated wards clamped down around them. The magic was so strong it felt as though it was coursing through her veins, and this time, it was not a nice, or even comfortable, feeling. Dismantling the wards took Professor Snape about a minute, which was still quite long, considering the fact that he was the one who created them.

It really was an indication of how strong the wards actually were, and Hermione suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for the witch or wizard that thought they stood half a chance of getting in there.

He opened the door and swept into the room. In the room there were six lovely white marble benches, with one cauldron on each, adjourned with cushioned green leather stools underneath them. Something appeared to be bubbling in about three of them, and the ingredients to each was laid out appropriately next to the designated potion, along with the other utensils. Along the back wall were hanging cauldrons and stirring sticks. At the back of the room there was an outline of a door, which Hermione assumed was where he kept his personal ingredients. The room was absolutely gorgeous, even Hermione, who didn’t have a natural affinity for potions, could see that.

But Hermione was too caught up in what she’d seen before to comment on how gorgeous the room was, or to ask what potion was bubbling in each cauldron; she would have time to do that in a minute, but at the present moment the wards were burning away at her curiosity. She couldn’t help it; she was nearly shaking at the need to know, and her resolve to not be overbearing and nosy was soon quashed easily under the foot of what was now classified as morbid curiosity.

“What was that? What was the purpose of having wards after the initial melting away of the wall? Isn’t it better to have wards preventing the intruder from reaching it in the first place?”

Professor Snape sighed and pinched his rather prominent nose. “Must you ask so many questions?” he snapped. “If you must know, I have a lot of dangerous things in here, Miss Granger, and a lot of dangerous people willing to steal, or even sabotage, my work. The wards, instead of solely protecting the room, also work as an alarm system. The witch or wizard is trapped there, and I feel a thrum in my magic that alerts me to their presence. It’s a lot safer to have the perpetrator trapped, rather than out in the classroom. And then there’s the factor of revenge, which, I will admit, drew my interest to the idea in the first place.”

“Brilliant,” she breathed. She sighed in wonder, apparently glossing over the last comment in her rose-tinted haze of temporary academic fulfillment. 

* * *

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Severus allowed himself a self-congratulatory smirk at her expression of awe. It had taken him a long time to develop, and a lot of empirical testing, but the finishing result was more than worth his time. Even Filius had been impressed with the complicated wards.

* * *

“Today you’ll work on the list of potions Poppy needs for the Infirmary,” Professor Snape stated dispassionately, straight down to business. “Given the fact that the Winter months are rapidly approaching, Poppy believed it prudent to stock up on some Pepper-Up potion. Poppy assured me that three batches would be sufficient, but every year the snotty nosed brats always manage to catch, on average, about one to two colds each. Begin with two batches, and then when you’ve poured and bottled those, begin the other two batches.”

After working for about three hours, Hermione was finally finished. She glanced at the light orange liquid swirling around in the cauldron and nodded in satisfaction, pleased to see it was the perfect colour and consistency. She let it set for a minute, and began to pour the remaining liquid into the small bottles, filling a total of four crates. Working with two potions at the same time sounded daunting to begin with, but after she began the task, she found it wasn’t that much more difficult than working with one; it just required a lot more concentration, and a fair bit of skill in the time management department. To put a long story short, Hermione was very good at both. The ability to lose herself in a book for hours at a time was tribute to that first skill, and a colour coded study timetable religiously thumbed through like a sacrilegious guide was tribute enough to the second. After cleaning and putting back the cauldron and stirring rod, she carefully replaced the lids on the ingredients. Once everything seemed clean, she cast a strong cleansing charm on the workbench.

Sighing in satisfaction at a job well done, Hermione turned around to say goodbye to Professor Snape. She was looking forward to a nice, long, relaxing bath and a little research. She needed to complete some homework, and she also wanted to slot in a little time to go over the questions she wanted to ask Professor McGonagall. She wanted to get the most information she possibly could out of the meeting, and her questions needed to be subtle enough to not raise Professor McGonagall’s suspicions, but also interesting enough that Professor McGonagall would feel compelled to answer. 

She didn’t mind Professor McGonogall knowing that she was working on something, but she didn’t want it known if she decided to… experiment. She knows, she knows! It was one thing to hide it for fear of not being taken seriously (_ and _ , Hermione admitted ruefully, _ a slight fear of failure _), but another thing altogether if she wanted to hide it because of something so stupidly dangerous. It was a risky thing to do, practising Human Transfiguation, and a very stupid thing to try on her own, but Hermione wasn’t so dim-witted not to figure everything out before hand, and account for every variable. She was to be her own test subject, yes, but Hermione wanted it that way. If something went wrong, at least she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of it going awry on someone else. But it wouldn’t happen. She would be extraordinarily careful, and she wouldn’t actually try putting theory into practice until she was quadruple-y sure that it would work, and not only work, but work well. 

  
  


“A rookie mistake, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape stated as soon as she had said goodbye. 

“Pardon?” she asked, confused. She prayed to every deity out there that she wasn’t somehow projecting her thoughts. She didn’t think that was even possible, but then again, she was only up to chapter three in her relatively new-found Occlumency book. Maybe it was something she didn’t yet know about. And anyway, she only knew how to block her thoughts in the most primary fashion. She had worked on building an illustration in her head, and had finally settled on, and oh she hated how predictable it was, a Library. Specifically, a Library that contained all her memories. And each book was a seperate memory. The locked books contained her more confidential memories. _ Or memories I certainly don’t want to relive, _ Hermione reminded herself with a grimace, thinking back to Ron’s little “birthday surprise”.

“Don’t entertain Filius with remarks that end in a polite tone. It’s been years since he’s had polite conversation with anyone that he hasn’t already exhausted common topics on. Given the chance he’d flap his gums all day to his heart’s content.”

“That’s okay, I like Professor Flitwick,” Hermione replied, strangely amused and also very, very relieved at the non-sequitur. Was the whole Flitwick situation common knowledge? Remembering the grin Professor Lupin wore when he tucked in his chair and leant over his plate suggested that, yes, _everybody_ knew. “And still, I don’t mind if he talks a bit. Some of the things he says are quite interesting.”

“Emphasis on _ a bit. _And you'll say that until he gets out his little charmed singing figurines and begins his rendition of A Kind Of Magic by the muggle band Queen at the dinner table,” he muttered darkly.

“You know muggle bands well enough to identify the name of the piece and the band? That’s… actually quite impressive,” she replied, thinking of Arthur Weasley and how hopelessly clueless most wizards and witches tended to be with muggle culture.

“I know everything, Miss Granger,” he replied silkily. He set aside the mortar and pestle, where he had been previously grinding some form of snake fang (Hermione hadn’t been paying attention) and added three pinches to the potion that was bubbling in front of him. The previously purple potion quickly turned a sickly shade of green. The lustrous liquid began to expand, and he jabbed his wand at the flame, quickly lowering the temperature to a stable simmer. “Now get back to your common room and stop asking questions.”

Hermione desperately wanted to ask what the potion was, and what it did, but she wasn’t keen on pushing her luck. They had had a rather nice conversation, and she didn’t want to over stay her welcome and spoil it. “Yes, sir. Have a pleasant evening.” 

“Goodnight, Miss Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be awhile until I can write and update again. I have a few things I need to do this week, so I’ll be a bit busy. ;( anyhow, happy reading! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the wait! I honestly had the worst writing block, and I felt like my writing was just eh. The amount of scenes I’ve wrote and then scrapped is astounding. If I weren’t writing digitally, I’m sure my recycling bin would be overflowing with binned drafts. 
> 
> I was a bit busy the past week and a bit too, so for that I say: life, amiright? 
> 
> Okay, on with the story!

Chapter 10

Wednesday afternoon

October 1st

  
  


“What about a walk around the lake?” Ginny wheedled. “We’ve been sitting here for the past three hours, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t move my legs soon they'll fall off and look for a more deserving recipient.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginny had been trying to convince her to leave the library for all three of those hours. Little progress was made beyond beseeching glances (Ginny) and quelling glares (Hermione). 

Ginny ignored her eye-roll with practiced ease. “I’ve done _ ALL _ my homework. I’m even up to date on that little colour coded study guide you forced on us first day back, and that’s saying something!” 

Hermione clutched at her heart with a noteworthy wince. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t regularly use the study guides I give you, and that they’re just a last resort for boredom?”

Ginny snorted quietly at her little display. “Exactly.” She glanced longingly out the window before turning back to Hermione with a rather pathetic pout. Hermione fleetingly wondered whether Ginny would ever use the expression again if she told her that it reminded her of a petulant Ron. Probably not, she decided. “What is it that has us trapped in a dusty arse library on a day like today, anyways? I can think of plenty of things I’d rather do.”

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Hermione said, exasperated. “And if you must know, I’m analysing a few questions I have for Professor McGonagall.”

Ginny’s lightly freckled nose scrunched up in confusion, and she gave Hermione a questioning look. “Analysing questions?”

“After supper last night at the staff table I took it upon myself to ask Professor McGonagall whether she’d be okay with me asking her a few questions regarding Transfiguration,” Hermione explained, having added a few more scribbled annotations to the side of the page as she spoke. The quill seemed to groan in protest at the workout it was receiving. “I wanted an expert’s opinion on a few things I’m researching, so I asked whether it would be okay to have a meeting tonight after supper to discuss it.”

“I would ask what it is you were asking, but it would probably fly right over my head anyhow,” Ginny sighed. Hermione might have actually fallen for the regretful lilt that laced her sigh if it weren’t immediately accompanied by a relieved expression. 

“I don’t know about that,” Hermione hummed pensively. “The concept isn’t too difficult to grasp. In fact, it’s quite simple-”

“Oh!” Ginny exclaimed softly, hitting herself in the head with an exaggerated thump. “I just remembered that I- uh- that I had to pick up a few- um… books? Yeah, books. I’ll come find you in a while, okay?” 

Hermione chuckled softly when Ginny bid a hasty retreat to the bookshelves. She wasn’t offended; had she switched places with Ginny and was made to listen to a Qudditch reenactment she likely would’ve done the same. She wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t bother the side of her that craved academic discussion, but she had long since cast the little voice away after realising that, no, most people didn’t care to discuss, or collect, tidbits of unnecessary information just for the sake of knowing. 

Hermione remembered the amount of time she had spent that summer looking into the origins of the severing charm, just for the sake of knowing. She had read a book that credited a Beatrice Edun with the casting of the first severing charm, and after her History of Magic class, she had questioned the veracity of the reference. After a long few days of absorbing every book and article she could find that referenced the elusive Beatrice Edun, she came to a conclusion: Beatrice Edun was no Delfina Crimp. Beatrice was merely an old magical maid who got bloody well sick of her male cat and his dubious reputation. Fred and George had sworn her batty with a side of swot when they first saw The Burrow’s kitchen table piled high with books during school break. They quickly changed their tune after they caved in and asked Hermione what she was researching, though. Their identical (no pun intended) expressions of interest had been gratifying, if a bit worrying.

Walking into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes a few weeks later explained their avid interest in Edun. Hermione did smile though, as even she had to admit that calling a new sour testicle-shaped candy “Beatrice’s Sour Puss Balls” was quite clever. The fact that it made you hiss like a disgruntled cat a few minutes after consuming it was even better.

“Hey, Hermione. Mind if I sit here?”

Hermione looked up to see Anthony standing in front of Ginny’s abandoned chair. “Sure. Ginny left a minute ago to pick up a book. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Thanks,” he sighed, a grateful smile lighting up his gray eyes. He sat down, unzipped his backpack, and began to unpack his study items. “I needed to finish my homework and I didn’t feel like sitting alone; Terry and Micheal have already finished theirs.”

Hermione nodded. “What are you working on?”

“Just the Transfiguration essay. I’ve already completed the Charms one; Charms is my favourite subject, so I always end up completing it first.” He dug around in his bag and pulled out two packets of chocolate frogs. He offered one to Hermione as he eagerly ripped into his own. Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm at the noise he was making. Anthony must have seen her expression, though, as he grinned conspiratorially. “Madam Pince left the Library to go see Professor Dumbledore. I heard her grumble under her breath about it. Dunno what for though, so you should probably eat it fast.”

That was certainly strange. Madam Pince not in the library for the second time in a two week period? In Dumbledore’s office, no less? Hermione wasn’t sure what that meant, but she had a feeling it was somehow significant.

Hermione shook her head, as though clearing the thought, then laughed. “You certainly know how to win a girl over. I could definitely use some chocolate right about now.”

He bit the head off the chocolate frog and swallowed thickly. “You could say that. What are _ you _ working on?”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea to share anything more than the basics, so she outlined her idea in preliminary detail: enough to get the jist of what it is she was looking into, but not enough to make the plan common knowledge should it be compromised. She certainly didn’t tell him about the more… practical part of her experiment. She didn’t think he’d purposely give someone information about it, but rather give information _ un _knowingly. Merlin knew it had happened quite a bit over the years. Should her plan go through, and The Order actively begins to exploit her time-efficient, fool-proof version of unregistered Animagus transformation, then she wanted that information sealed within the confinements of unwavering trust. For those she was less certain about, an Unbreakable Vow. 

Anthony listened carefully, nodding at the appropriate points. At the end of her speech his face broke out in a brilliant grin. “That’s brilliant,” he sighed. “In fact, it’s bloody well revolutionary if I do say so myself. Have you told Professor McGonagall yet?”

“I have a meeting after supper tonight with her about it,” she explained, grinning broadly at his captivated expression. She popped the last bit of the chocolate frog into her mouth, stuffing the card (Alberic Grunnion, the inventor of the Dungbomb) into the front pocket of her bag. She planned on giving it to Fred and George; she thought they’d appreciate the sentiment. “It’s actually part of the reason why I’m here. On top of doing additional research, I was making sure the questions I asked were worthwhile- efficacious, even.”

Anthony frowned, looking pensive. “While I agree that that’s a good idea, why don’t you just ask for additional, scheduled meetings? I’m sure Professor McGonagall would allow it. You’re a brilliant student, you're Head Girl, _ AND _ you’re presenting her with a possibly revolutionary idea right in the department of her expertise.” 

Hermione blushed slightly at the compliments. “Thank you,” she murmured, brushing a stubborn piece of hair out of her eyes. “For the compliments, I mean. And for the advice. And for the listening. And for the chocolate. For all of it, really.”

Anthony gave her a lop-sided grin. “I would say the same for you, but you’ve distracted me so much that I haven’t even glanced at my homework.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I do have the habit of talking people’s ear off when I’m given the chance. Next time just tell me and I’ll-”

“It’s fine. I was kidding, Hermione. I’ve enjoyed our talk,” he said, shaking his head amusedly. “Besides, I quite like the sound of your voice, so I don’t think my ears will be taking off anytime soon.” 

She was quite certain that any sound she forced out of her mouth would more closely resemble the yip of a startled animal than anything remotely resembling English, so suffice it to say she was very glad when Ginny rounded the corner and smiled. It was an impish smile for those who knew her well. But Hermione didn’t really care. She had never been so relieved to see a mischievous-looking Ginevra Weasley in all her life. 

After exchanging a quick greeting with Anthony, she turned to Hermione. “Are you ready to get back to the common room now? It’s nearly time for dinner, and I thought it would be nice if we pick up Harry and Ron before we head off. I also thought that you might like some time to pick up some of your books from your rooms for that meeting with McGonagall.”

“Sure, that sounds like a great idea.” Hermione was so relieved she didn’t even bother correcting Ginny’s insubordination. “I’ll see you later, Anthony.”

Anthony gave her a departing grin, picked up his quill and began his essay. Hermione decided not to tell him about the smear of chocolate on the side of his face.

* * *

As soon as to library doors clicked shut behind them, Ginny pounced. 

“What’s this between you and Anthony?” 

Hermione groaned. She shuffled the books she was holding into a more comfortable position; her shoulders were tense and aching, and she didn’t dare cast any type of weight-reducing spell on the books. While she trusted her own magic to not damage them, she couldn’t be sure of how Madam Pince’s paranoid counter-jinxes would react. “Ginny, there’s absolutely nothing going on between us. You’re reading much too far into it. He was just being friendly. Just because someone wants to be kind doesn’t mean they have to have a romantic interest in the recipient.”

Ginny hummed noncommittally, taking half of Hermione’s books into her arms. Hermione sighed gratefully and gave her a thankful smile.

They continued to walk in silence, the only sound being their footsteps which reverberated off the old castle walls.

Ginny glanced sideways at Hermione. “Well… theoretically, if he were, would you be interested in him?”

She faltered for a moment. “I… I don’t know. I really just see him as a friend at the moment, and I don’t think that’ll change. I would feel flattered, but I don’t have any romantic feelings towards him. And, I will admit… it’s a bit… soon. I was never really _ in _ love with Ron, but still, I don’t think I want to trade one passionless relationship for another.” Hermione’s eyebrows drew together and she squinted at nothing in particular. “I don’t want to dive right in without checking how deep the waters go. If I do get into a relationship, I want it to be with someone who I feel so strongly about that I can’t mistake it for anything _ but _ love. As for Ron, I was more in love with the idea of him, and the idea of being a part of your family, than really being _ with _ him, you know?”

“I understand,” Ginny sympathised, a sad smile on her face. “But Hermione?”

Hermione looked at her in askance. 

“You never had to marry my brother to be apart of our family. It’s just a formality. You’re practically my sister anyway, and nothing can change that.”

Tears formed in Hermione’s eyes. “If my hands weren’t so full right now,” she sniffed, indicating her arms with a tilt of the head, “I’d give you the biggest hug I could manage without suffocating you in my hair.”

Ginny chuffed out a laugh. “A difficult feat, I’m sure.”

* * *

Soon they reached the Fat Lady, and after giving her the password and scrambling through the round passageway, they made their way over to Harry and Ron’s usual place of residence. Instead of finding a ginger and black mop of hair, though, they found a familiar head of chestnut coloured hair. 

“Hey Neville. Have you seen Harry or Ron?” Ginny asked, unceremoniously dumping the books on the side table. Hermione glowered at her carelessness, and carefully placed the stack she was carrying next to Ginny’s.

Neville turned around in his chair. “Yeah, Harry’s in our dormitory. I think he said was going to take a shower,” he said simply. He frowned. “I don’t know where Ron is, though. Said he was going for a walk and that he’d meet us at dinner. Do you want me to go fetch Harry?”

Hermione smiled. “That’d be great. Thank you, Neville.” 

Technically they could walk up there themselves, but Hermione had learnt her lesson the first time. Walking in on Seamus starkers while looking for Ron was not an experience she wanted to repeat, let alone remember; it was a locked-book memory. 

Neville put his book down, got up from his spot and ambled over to the staircase. Once he disappeared behind the curve of the spiraling mahogany staircase, Hermione spoke.

“A walk? Since when did Ron take walks?” Hermione asked, a puzzled expression on her face. “Where is he, do you think?”

As soon as the sentence left her mouth she wanted to retract it. She didn’t want to know.

Ginny made a disgusted face. “Probably sticking his tongue down Lavender’s throat, the prat. Did you know he announced the relationship to Harry and I yesterday, as if we’d be jumping up and down saying ‘Wow, we’re so glad that you went back to an insufferable tart that has nothing else in her head but tea leaf readings and gossipy beauty magazines’? Honestly, Hermione. My idiot of a brother didn’t deserve you, anyway.”

An image of rose bushes rose, unbidden, to the surface of her mind. She fought the wave of tears that threatened to spill down her face, and gasped, despite the lump in her throat, at the gut-wrenching, sickening stab of betrayal that pierced her abdomen. Ginny hugged her tightly and muttered various threats that included Ronald Weasley and a swift kick in the pants. Ginny’s fierce protectiveness reminded her so much of Molly Weasley that she couldn’t help but smile. It was a tremulous smile that didn’t quite reach her watery eyes, but it was a smile nevertheless. And it was enough to calm her down. She wiped her dripping nose on her sleeve and blinked away the remainder of her tears.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. “Sorry, Gin. I don’t know what came over me. It just comes and goes. The feeling is always there, but it feels less real when I can deny it exists.”

“Hermione, you’re allowed to be upset. Betrayed, even,” Ginny said, rubbing consoling circles on her back. She turned her gaze to the stairs, making sure there was no audience. “The bloody arsehole. Thinks more with his cock than his brain, obviously.”

She snorted wetly.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically part 1 of 2. 
> 
> The holidays are approaching and for that I’m eternally grateful. Six whole weeks of doing essentially nothing. Hopefully I’ll be more frequent with my updates then. I just hope I don’t come down with another case of WB.
> 
> I might even look into writing a one-shot or two over the holidays. They look fun, and something that could be a good break between updating Insurmountable.
> 
> I also kind of want to start drawing pictures to go along with a few of my chapters. Would that be tacky, though? I’m not sure. I’ve drawn something for this chapter if you guys wanted to take a look. I’ll link it below. It’s not great, I admit, and it’s not really a significant scene for the plot, but I thought it was cute. One review once said that everybody needs a bit of Supportive Ginny in their lives, and I happen to agree.
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/jjuniper1/art/Eb52663b-b394-4cdc-afa1-a833d6d57b21-821938003
> 
> What do you think? 
> 
> P.S JK Rowling states in an interview that she’s always imagined Neville with blonde hair, but for me, I’ve always imagined him similar to how he’s depicted in the films- just a bit pudgier. So that means brown-haired Neville is staying. Woot!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say… yikes. Procrastination is a real thing, people! I'm so sorry for keeping you all this long, and I appreciate the few of you being so patient. I'd be surprised if you guys even remember the plot; it's been about two and a bit months since I last updated. We'll see a fair bit of Severus in the next chapters to come, but alas I've been busy setting up for more SS/HG goodness down the line and getting the plot rearing for show time. Anyhow, I wish you all a happy belated New Years and well wishes all around. On with the story!

**Chapter 11**

Wednesday Evening

October 1st

If Harry saw her (no doubt) red, blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes he didn't mention it. But, if Hermione's opinion counted, the knowing, sympathetic look he sent her was comment enough.

On the way back to her rooms they chatted away contentedly about a variety of things. The first subject revolved around how her assistant position was going. Namely, whether Snape was treating her okay and whether she was enjoying it so far. Although Ginny was the one who raised the two sub branches, it was Harry who perked up considerably at the prospect of possibly hexing Snape on behalf of Hermione. She had hastily reassured him that, while Professor Snape wasn't a ray of sunshine (they had both snorted at the understatement), he was moderately polite when he wanted to be. Which was true. Harry, obviously quite disappointed at the missed opportunity, changed the conversation to more fruitful subjects as they sat down for dinner.

As they spoke, Hermione let her eyes wander down the Gryffindor table. She took in the (relatively) new faces and tried her best to scope out any loners. It was normal for first years to miss home or struggle with making friends, and so Hermione did her best to provide comfort as Head Girl. But so far everything appeared to be going well. They had all seemed to settle into the castle with relative ease, and most, if not all, seemed content with their new routine. A flick of green caught her eye, and she shifted her gaze to a first year who was trying very hard to hit his newly-appointed friend in the head with a spoon-made-pea-catapult. Hermione couldn't help but smile indulgently at them; it reminded her of Ron and Harry at that age. The dark haired girl across from them, who looked not a day older than the two boys, shot them a chastening glare. Hermione fought the urge to laugh. Father Time certainly had an unconventional sense of humour.

"I think Dumbledore's up to something," Harry blurted abruptly. The silencing charm he had cast sometime during Hermione's preoccupation seemed to amplify the bewildered silence.

Ginny regained her bearings the quickest. Only the slightest bit of confusion coloured her voice. "What do you mean?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"I don't know," Harry sighed finally. He pushed the carrots on his plate back and forth through the gravy dejectedly. "I just think there's something he isn't telling me."

Ron shook his head and scoffed. He picked up a bread roll and began buttering it. "No offence, mate, but when has he ever actually told you the full story? He's the best chance we've got, and I trust him as much as the next bloke, but he's always been like that." He dipped the bread into the pumpkin soup and let it soak. Hagrid's giant pumpkin patch always blossomed this time of year, and the house elves did their best to incorporate it into every part of the menu. "Nearly all the adults are. They keep us out of the loop on purpose, and it's always been that way. Nearly all the information we get is from unintentional slips of the tongue and eavesdropping."

Hermione hummed in agreeance. Despite her rather unsavoury feelings for Ron at the present moment, and his less than tactful delivery, she had to agree with his assessment. Dumbledore, and the majority of adults in their lives, tended to baby them despite the integral part they played in the ongoing war. Hermione found it quite ironic that more trust was placed in the hands of their eleven-year-old selves than their sixteen, seventeen and eighteen-year-old counterparts.

"Yeah," Harry acknowledged with a thoughtful, if hesitant, nod. His doubtful gaze wandered from his mutilated carrots all the way up to the Headmaster's vacant seat. "It's probably nothing."

* * *

Hermione wiped her hands nervously on her robes and counted backwards from ten. She knew, logically, that there was next to nothing wrong with asking a few questions, but she couldn't help but think she was somehow breaching an unspoken trust. Professor McGonagall and herself had a pretty good relationship all around. As Hermione matured, and the mentor and student dynamics defrosted, it became easier to find common ground with the stern, seemingly unflappable woman. And through many encounters and meetings with Professor McGonagall, Hermione found that, despite her strict exterior, she had a warm nature and a good sense of humour. Hermione felt as though she had found a kindred spirit in the older witch.

But that was the problem. Hermione felt tremendously guilty. She had gained the trust of her mentor and new found friend, and she was essentially spitting on it and pulling it through the dust. And she could dress it up all she wanted, but Hermione knew, deep down, that being ambiguous with her intentions was just as bad as lying outright. Lying by omission is still a lie, her conscience supplied. It wasn't a coincidence that her voice of reason sounded suspiciously like her mother's chastening, yet loving, voice. She sighed. How she had managed to survive so long as Harry and Ron's best friend clad with her penchant for truthfulness and pleasing authoritative figures was beyond her.

Hermione mustered up all her Gryffindor courage and knocked.

She almost felt disappointed when it opened of its own accord; all her fretting seemed rather anticlimactic. Especially partnered with Professor McGonagall, who sat contentedly behind her desk with a book open on her lap. The smell of her favourite tea wafted around the room, and the pack of Jaffa cakes sat opened on the desk, a mouth-watering accompaniment to the lovely rich tea.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. I take it you survived being a bit late to your meeting with Severus?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose of their own accord as she moved to sit down. "Professor Snape told you?"

She glanced at Hermione almost laughingly. "No," she confided. "It was merely an assumption. But the way he glowered at me this morning was rather telling that something had ruffled his feathers. I simply put two and two together. He doesn't like sharing his time- nor his assistant, it seems."

Hermione told herself firmly that it was not appropriate to blush at that last bit (though her body only listened half heartedly). Professor McGonagall looked at her strangely, but otherwise didn't comment. "Now, I seem to remember you having a few questions about Transfiguration…"

Hermione fiddled with the handle of her teacup and tried very, very hard to squish the butterflies that spun erratically in her stomach.

"Right." She took a deep breath. "I happen to be researching something at the moment. Particularly, Human Transfiguration. I want to research the potential of Arithmetic equations in Animagus transformation, and subsequently I need reliable information and somebody who can answer some of the questions I have. I really hope you don't mind, Professor. And if you do you don't have to. Not at all. It's not related to school, so it's perfectly understandable if you wanted to decline- "

"Miss Granger."

"— as I know you're very busy as it is. What with NEWT classes and everything. And even if you weren't too busy, I'd likely need to have multiple meetings to ask you everything I want to know, even with quality control in regards to questions—"

"Hermione!"

Hermione blinked.

Professor McGonagall rubbed a hand over her face and sighed. It was such an informal gesture that it didn't seem to fit in with Hermione's perception of the woman (even after having gotten to know her better). "I must say, I was initially rather concerned for this meeting."

Hermione blinked yet again. She was still reeling from the use of her first name, and the unexpected answer wasn't helping any. "Pardon?"

"I was rather concerned that something was bothering you," she explained wearily. Her lips thinned imperceptibly. "When I had heard of you getting a detention for being out after curfew, I figured there had to have been a reason for it." She took a sip of her tea, and a thoughtful frown marred for dominance on her stern features. "It isn't usual for you to break the rules without certain… coercion. I believe you even missed out on your birthday celebrations in Gryffindor Tower. Misters Fred and George Weasley had expressed their disappointment at your absence, after having enquired specially with me about visiting for it. Which was not only strange, but wholly unlike you. I have never known you, in the entirety of your stay here at Hogwarts, to curt responsibilities or functions you had previously promised to attend."

McGonagall glanced at her expectantly.

"I know," Hermione sighed regretfully. She broke the Jaffa cake on her plate in half and swirled it around in her tea as she spoke. "I will admit to being extremely distressed at the time. I was both upset and angry, and I wasn't ready to head back to Gryffindor Tower right away. After coming to that realisation, I took refuge in the Kitchens. I didn't mean to stay out so long past curfew, but I had gotten caught up in a book I found during my tenor at the Library." She took a bite of the now soggy-biscuit with an appreciative hum.

McGonagall glanced at her appraisingly. "Very well," she relented. "I trust the issue has now passed?"

"Do you want the simple answer or the complicated answer?" Hermione asked, bemused despite her rather depressing situation.

"I believe I have time for the complicated answer, should you wish to indulge me," McGonagall answered, curious despite herself.

"Well, technically, no. I'm still rather hung up about it, but my feelings aren't so raw about the subject now. I've come to terms with it for the most part, but I still hurt every now and then. But I have every confidence that with time I'll get over it…"

"I have no doubt you will," McGonagall nodded distractedly, yet not unkindly. She sent her teacup to sit on the tray with a flick of her wand and turned her full attention to Hermione. "Brilliant."

Hermione blinked in pure shock for the third time that evening, and made a mental note to remind the author of the story that there were plenty of suitable synonyms to describe shock without alluding to some type of weird facial tick.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's brilliant. And despite its simplicity, I don't believe it's ever been done before." She stood and ran her hands along the bookshelf nestled on both sides of the window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. She pulled a familiar looking slim green book from the contents of the shelves and flipped through the tome. "In fact, I'm willing to bet the idea hadn't passed the means of exploration. Many traditionalists within the community believe in keeping magical variants separate. Animagus transformation is a particularly old variant, developed…"

Hermione excitedly jumped into the conversation, absorbing all the information offered to her while asking all the questions she could think of. Suffice it to say, Hermione was in academic bliss, and many hours passed in equal academic satisfaction for both mentor and student.

* * *

Hermione stretched her arms over her head and winced at the loud pops that sounded. "Thank you for your time, Professor. I really appreciate it." She glanced up at the older witch. "And you're sure that it won't be too big of a bother to answer any of my questions in the future?"

"It has been and will be my pleasure," McGonagall reassured her, a pleased half smile dangling from her lips. "Any time you have any more questions, or merely need some guidance in regards to your project, simply ask me at supper and we'll arrange another meeting."

Hermione's answering grin was simultaneously relieved and grateful.

"But Miss Granger?" she asked, her voice suddenly serious. Hermione sobered. "You must promise me that you won't actually attempt anything you research." McGonagall stood up and slipped the books back into the bookshelf then turned to glance at Hermione. "I understand the temptation, but Animagus transformation is incredibly dangerous." She paused. "Especially when experimenting with it."

Hermione hesitated before answering with a perfunctory nod.

Suddenly the Floo flared to life in a whirling of green flames, startling them from their conversation. They turned their attention to the flames. Albus Dumbledore, clad in the most hideous, colourful robes Hermione had yet seen on the Headmaster (Hermione would never understand why the most powerful Wizard in the world chose yellow robes with pink polka dots with a magicked colour-changing hat to [mis]match, but she had grown so accustomed to the anomaly that she barely blinked), stepped out of the flames.

"I've always disliked Floo travel," he stated, brushing the ash from his robes and his now speckled beard. "I've found the ash isn't quite so forgiving to buttercup yellow. Quite a shame, really."

"Hello, Albus," Professor McGonagall greeted him.

"Minerva," he acknowledged. His gaze flittered to Hermione. "Ah, Miss Granger. What a coincidence." She had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't a coincidence at all, but otherwise didn't comment on it.

Hermione uttered a polite greeting in return but opted not to make direct eye contact, instead staring at a particularly interesting piece of lint she had found on her jumper.

"Well, this does save me a lot of time. Minerva," he addressed the older witch, "have you breached the subject of the upcoming Order meeting?"

Hermione's ears perked up.

"Miss Granger hasn't officially joined the Order yet, Albus." Her voice was stern and she gave Dumbledore a glare reminiscent of Molly Weasley at her most protective. "Let her decide on her own."

"I want to join," Hermione piped up. She smiled apologetically at Professor McGonagall who in turn just sighed wearily.

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled madly as he followed the silent conversation between the two witches. Minerva was incredibly strong willed, but wise enough to pick her battles; a decisive Miss Granger was a battle that could not be won, it seemed. "Excellent!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly. "It's decided. I'll leave Minerva to explain the details."

Professor McGonagall ignored him, instead asking, "Albus, what was the purpose of your visit if not to recruit Miss Granger?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I believe the Muggles call it a staff welfare check."

"Pardon?" McGonagall asked, confused.

"Severus was in quite a bad mood this morning, don't you think?"

Professor McGonagall snorted, and Hermione had to hold in a laugh at the implication.

He popped a lemon drop into his mouth and ducked back into the Floo, which immediately sprung to life in a burst of violently green hues. He sent Hermione a departing wink. "Toodles!"

* * *

Hermione shut the door behind her with a heavy sigh, toed off her shoes and plopped down on her bed. She rolled over and stared unseeingly at the ceiling above her bed. Things were getting complicated, and if one thing was certain amongst the maelstrom of activity fluttering through Hermione's mind, it was that her newfound Occlumency book would soon be considered a worn copy, and her rather lacklustre skills much more than a hypothetical precaution.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I'd like to start this Author's Note by saying that I wish for the health of all my readers and their immediate friends and family through this difficult time. It is nothing you haven't already heard from the media but: stay safe and stay home if you can. My greatest respect and appreciation to medical staff also. Hopefully this chapter will help clear your boredom for the estimated twenty minutes it'll take to read it. Extra long chapter today— there's a lot of HG/SS interaction. I was going to split it into two chapters, but I felt you guys deserved the whole lot. If it's too much to read in one sitting just split it up. Forgive my procrastination. I'm quite embarrassed by it, really. I will defend myself by saying I have been super busy with school, though. Work doesn't just suddenly stop, as I'm sure the majority of you know who are studying at home, schooling from home or working from home. But that's enough of that. Enjoy! <3

**Chapter 12**

Thursday Noon

October 2nd

"Let me get this straight," Ginny repeated, dumbfounded. "You want me to teach you how to _lie_?"

"Could you be any louder?" Hermione hissed, casting a quick glance at Harry and Ron, who were in the corner playing Wizard's Chess, both procrastinating their respective essays as long as possible. They hadn't noticed, luckily; both were preoccupied. Ron because he was 'in the zone', and Harry because he was trying desperately hard to not lose in a pathetic fashion. "And yes. How many times do I need to repeat myself?"

The younger girl shook her head. Her voice was significantly quieter when she spoke again, but the disbelieving tone was unwavering. "But… but why?"

"I think it should be quite obvious why! You know I'm pants at lying; you said so yourself!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Hermione groaned. "Is it too unbelievable that I'd just like to know?"

"No," Ginny replied, her focus shifting to Harry and Ron. "I would be more surprised if there was something you didn't want to know." Her gaze shifted back to Hermione, a speculative glint in her brown eyes. "Yet the fact remains that you've sprung this on me out of the blue, and have offered no explanation as to why you suddenly need to lie effectively."

Hermione chewed on her lip thoughtfully, searching her over-active brain for something that would satisfy Ginny's curiosity. If there was one thing she had learnt, it was that, while not being a good liar, she was a dab-hand at doublespeak. "It's about time I learn. We're in the middle of a war much larger than ourselves; how can I move forward with my heart on my sleeve?"

Ginny paused for a moment, mulling it over, but then nodded resolutely. "Okay, I'll teach you. But," she held up a hand, halting Hermione's exclamation of gratitude, "I expect a call-in favour down the road."

Hermione huffed disbelievingly. "I didn't realise I was making deals with a Slytherin."

The younger witch shrugged. "You learn to reap the benefits of favours when you have six brothers constantly asking you to cover for them."

"Sneaky." There was no heat in the reprimand from Hermione.

Ginny grinned wickedly. "You're counting on it, Missy."

* * *

It was later that afternoon that Hermione sat with Ron, Harry and Ginny inside the common room, finishing up some essays they had due the next day. Hermione had finished hers a few days prior, but had stayed when begged by both Harry and Ron to read over their essays.

"Last time, we swear!" Ron had exclaimed, hand over his heart with an earnest expression playing about his freckled face. _He would have done Sir Cadogan proud with those dramatics,_ Hermione thought belatedly, a small smirk crawling onto her face. If she had a Galleon for every occasion Harry or Ron had made false promises to her regarding their work ethic, she would be richer than Harry himself.

"Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head as if to rouse herself, then flushed as she met the expectant expressions on the boys' faces. They had probably been trying to get her attention for some time now if Ron's pouting expression was anything to tell by.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Ron?"

"I've just finished mine now. Could you go over it?" Ron asked imploringly, passing his parchment over to Hermione. Remembering his manners at Ginny's not-so-subtle prompting, he shot Hermione a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Please?"

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly and took the parchment from Ron's grubby hands. How he managed to sustain grubby hands when they had stayed inside the castle for the majority of the day, she wasn't sure. "Let's have a look at this, shall we?"

As soon as Hermione's eyes met parchment, she had to physically hold back a groan. The parchment she held in her hands looked dilapidated; he could've chucked it into the forbidden forest and let any number of clawed creatures have their way with it and the result would have been the same. The ink was a bit smeared in places and the writing slanted with a mind of its own, sometimes leaning forwards while other times leaning backwards.

Suffice it to say: the content was almost as rough as the outward appearance.

Never had Hermione felt so bad for Professor McGonagall.

Hermione, stifling a grimace, looked up and smiled encouragingly at Ron. "It's quite good, Ron." She rolled up his parchment and handed it over. "Just a little more work on it and a few small corrections should do the trick."

Ron preened fantastically. "Thanks, Hermione." He turned to a baffled Harry and grinned unabashedly. "Told you it was good!"

Ron, with his freckled flushed face and freshly stroked ego, bounded up the stairs to the Gryffindor boys' dormitories, parchment in hand. It was few moments later that Harry, Ginny and Hermione heard triumphant whoops and cries. It was no surprise that said cries sounded suspiciously like 'Hermione', 'bloody', 'quite good' and 'genius'.

Hermione snorted and shook her head disbelievingly. Typical. When Hermione moved her gaze to Ginny, she couldn't help but smile. The approving, smug expression on the younger witch's face was contagious; it seemed she had passed Ginny's test with flying colours.

* * *

Harry followed the exchange between the two witches with a frown. _Girls_, he decided, not for the first time in his life, _were completely and utterly barmy._

* * *

Hermione stirred the potion in front of her with an absent frown. She hadn't seen Professor Snape that evening. She had sat at her normal space at the Head Table that night for supper, and had not seen Snape at all. She had assumed he had taken dinner in his rooms, or had other business to attend to, and had shrugged it off relatively easily once dessert had rolled around. It wasn't until Professor Dumbledore had spoken to her after dinner outside the Great Hall that she had begun to worry. He had told her that Professor Snape had been "called away" and that he should return later that night. She had quickly taken the hint and went about her normal duties. Despite having been given access to the brewing area, it still took Hermione the better part of five minutes to unward it.

She cast a quick tempus charm and noted dispassionately that she had worked over-time. Long past over-time, actually. It was almost midnight. Yet Hermione found she didn't really care. For reasons unbeknownst to Hermione, she had begun to care for the taciturn man. Perhaps not in the way one would care for a lover or a friend, but for someone she had an abundance of respect for. Working in close proximity with the man for the better part of two weeks had cemented her opinion of the Potions Master. For every barbed insult and contemptuous expression, he was equal parts hard working, skillful, intelligent and diligent. He also had a sense of humour. Which had surprised her. A wicked, dry sense of humour, but a sense of humour nevertheless. Hermione had found herself chuckling at odd hours of the day when she thought back to a few of his more caustic remarks he had let slip during their last meeting at Professor Flitwick's expense.

"I believe I told you to return to your common room when I was called on meetings. Being alerted that my wards had been breached long past hours is not an experience I want to repeat. I also don't recall giving you permission to brew without my supervision."

Hermione looked up at the sound of his voice, relief suddenly flooding through her; relief as palpable as the blood that coursed through her veins. "You're back!"

"I should think that obvious," Snape stated dispassionately.

It was then Hermione noticed that he was leaning heavily against the doorframe and breathing heavily through his nose. His skin was a sickly white pallor, far lighter than usual, and his skin was damp with perspiration. Hermione cast her eyes downward and had to hold in a gasp that threatened to escape her lips. His trousers were torn at the leg and there was blood leaking out of the wound.

"Oh my gods, you're bleeding!" she blurted, unable to take her eyes away from the wound now that it had now caught her attention.

Hermiome probably wouldn't have even noticed it if it weren't for the fact that he was no longer wearing his teaching robes, which tended to cover him head-to-toe in black fabric, but a long white shirt and black trousers. It looked as though he had thrown away whatever outer robes he had been wearing. If the torn up state of the underclothes he now wore now were any indication, they were likely torn to shreds

"Another astute observation, Miss Granger," he sneered. She lifted her gaze back up to his face, and was rather startled to see that he looked even paler than he had a moment ago. His grip on the doorframe slackened. "Now leave me be and run along to your common room."

"Aren't you going to go see Madam Pomfrey?" she asked, unable to help herself.

"I have no need of her assistance," he snapped. As if trying to prove his point, he took a steady step forward and promptly collapsed.

Hermione jumped up from her seat and immediately ran over to help him up. "Professor Snape?"

When she went to touch his shoulder, he battered her hand away with a hiss. He tilted his head up at her, his glaring black eyes peering back at her through his sweat-laden hair. "I'm perfectly capable of getting up on my own, thank you very much."

Hermione glared steadily back at him and folded her arms under her breasts, very much fed-up with his snarky attitude. "I was merely trying to help. If you're so capable of standing, you wouldn't have collapsed in the first place."

As soon as she was finished with her scolding, Hermione instantly felt guilty. Letting her temper get the better of her while he sat bleeding out all over the floor wasn't anything to be proud of. "Sorry sir," she apologised, feeling thoroughly chastened by the cooler, more rational part of her brain. "That was unnecessary. But I really do insist that you allow my help in getting up off the floor. You could hurt yourself more than you already are."

Just when he looked as though he were about to flat-out deny her help with another snarky insult, a tremor ran through his body, one strong enough to steal his breath and have him panting. Hermione's eyes widened in recognition.

Hermione, uncaring of his opinion in the matter, quickly pulled out her wand and cast a stasis charm on the potion she had been working on and transfigured the green leather stool into a low settee.

When she reached for him again, he scowled ferociously at her, snapping, "I am not an invalid. I can move myself."

With a determined expression, he pulled himself up onto the seattee. Hermione quashed the urge to snap back at the obstinate man. Instead, she simply tucked his legs up carefully (avoiding the large gash she had spotted on his right leg) onto the seattee, ignoring his piercing glare as she did so.

"I'm sending a patronus to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione declared, brandishing her wand yet again.

Before Hermione could even utter the words to the Patronus Charm, something captured her wrist. She blinked at the contact, following it down to Professor Snape's scowling face. "You most certainly will not. I'm fine. I do not want, nor need, Poppy's attentions. I have dealt with this many times over. I simply need to rest."

Hermione knew that any protest on her part was futile. But he was mad if he thought she would simply leave him there when he could barely stand. "Very well," she said, slowly removing herself from his grip, "but I refuse to leave you in this state, sir. Where do you keep your medicinical potions?"

"No."

She sighed. "I can't very well help you without the tools to do it, sir. Either you tell me where they are or I go get Madam Pomphrey."

Hermione paused to hold him by the arms as another after-shock ripped through his body. Thinking that the cool dungeons were doing nothing good for his overraught nerves and muscles, Hermione took off her jumper and transfigured it into a blanket, draping it over him. "In my quarters," he replied finally, his gaze shifting to something over her left shoulder.

"And where's that?"

He indicated at something behind Hermione, and when she turned she could see another door, one that hadn't been there previously. "It opens up into my office. It's merely a pathway Albus had installed as a shortcut," he explained, probably seeing her confused expression. "In the office is another door. Through there is my living quarters. Through my bedroom is my bathroom. All my potions are kept in the cabinet above the sink. Do not touch anything. If I find out you've nosed around in there longer than need be then the detentions you had previously suffered would look lenient."

"Right," Hermione nodded, ignoring the latter part of his explanation. She cast a quick shield charm that would prevent him from falling off the settee during the after-shocks and moved towards the door. "I'll be right back, sir."

Walking quickly through his office (and avoiding eye-contact with the pickled ingredients that irked her already upset stomach), Hermione opened the door to his quaters.

They were quite... _pleasant_. Hermione shook her head at herself, snorting at her own disbelief. It seemed the rumours of the Potions Master being a sadistic vampire had even melted itself into some part of her subconcious, despite her dismissive attitude towards them. The room was surprisingly warm, in a clinical kind of way. There were bookshelves lining nearly every wall (Hermione noted this with an indulgent expression), a long leather lounge and a leather armchair facing a steadily burning hearth. Next to the armchair sat a mahogany side table. Said side table was topped with more books, some parchment, quills, a glass snifter and an open bottle of brandy. There were no other signs of personalisation, as much as Hermione could make out from her quick perusal. There were certainly no photographs on the mantel, or mismatched blankets that told of an over-enthusiastic knitter in his life.

Hermione made her way over to the door that peaked out of one of the bookshelves and unceremoniously shoved it open. There was a regular four-poster bed, _Slytherin green_, Hermione noted wryly, with side tables on each side. She didn't bother to look around the bathroom; she as quite certain that she would gain no insight into the man's psyche by checking it out (Harry and Ron would likely disagree; checking to see whether the Greasy Git had any shampoo in his possession would be too good an opportunity to pass up and they would argue a very good "insight into the man's psyche"), and she was already taking longer than what Professor Snape himself would 'approve' of. She pulled open the medicine cabinet and scanned the potions that sat there. She grabbed an array of potions she thought would be of use and hurriedly made her way back to where Professor Snape was laying down.

He looked even paler than before, and the eyes that met hers looked glassy and distant. Almost smacking herself in the face at her stupidity, Hermione tore the rest his trouser leg off so she could properly see just how much damage there was. The hiss that left Professor Snape's mouth left Hermione mumbling an apology as she stared unabashedly at the large gash that ran from his mid-thigh to the top of his knee-cap. The area was bruised liberally and was dusted with a multitude of other scrapes and cuts. She settled her attention to the wound on his leg; the other injuries could be healed later by Snape himself. It looked like it had come from a slicing hex, or perhaps a knife. All Hermione knew was that it was much deeper than she had originally thought, and that anything she did would likely scar, given she wasn't a trained Mediwitch.

"Anything I do here could potentially scar, even with a healing spell and essence of dittany. Are you sure you don't want me to call Madam Pomfrey, sir?" Hermione asked, feeling a bit like a parrot. "Or Headmaster Dumbledore?"

Snape scoffed. His glassy eyes were still fixed firmly over her shoulder. "What's another scar? Either fix it or leave."

Hermione shrugged. He was right, after all. She still had a rather large reminder of her journey into the Department of Mysteries, and she found she didn't much care when she thought of her luck at having survived it in the first place. The only time she really gave it any mind was during her adolescent piques of self-consciousness. "Okay," she agreed. She pointed her wand at the wound and said unnecessary, "This'll hurt a bit."

The only validation Hermione got that her patient had even felt the unpleasant sensation of the cut being stitched back up was the rigidness of his posture. She uncorked the blood replenishing potion and held it up to his lips. With his arms and hands still shaking from what she assumed to be the cruciatus curse, she doubted he could drink it himself (without spilling half of it). He glared at her, but drank its contents. Pleased that she had at least solved that problem, she uncorked the dittany and let a few droplets fall onto the stitched up cut. Hermione held her breath at the hissing sound of flesh melding together.

"There we go," Hermione sighed finally, once the dittany had done its job and her stomach had stopped churning so violently. Unthinkingly, she traced her finger over the now silver scar that ran there. It wasn't until she felt the gaze of the Potions Master follow her path, as well as the feeling of muscles contracting in slight tremors under her finger, that she realised, with startling clarity, just what she was doing, and to whom, as well as how intimate the scene would seem to an onlooker. Hermione snatched her hand away and tucked it firmly into her lap.

"Do you know of any breaks or fractures you might've sustained, sir?" Hermione asked, trying desperately to stop the flush that was fighting its way up her neck and onto her face.

"No. And if I did, it would be nothing I couldn't fix myself." The words were clipped and cold, a stark contrast to the now pinkish hue of his cheeks. If Hermione didn't know better, she would almost assume he was blushing.

Hermione glanced at his still-quivering body and chewed thoughtfully on her lip. He looked a bit better. There was more colour in his face (obviously) and he had stopped sweating as profusely as he had been before. Yet the fatigue that lined his features was unmistakable. He looked as if he would fall asleep any second, and Hermione was worried to leave him there with a flimsy banket in the cold, damp dungeons. "Can you stand on your own?"

He narrowed his glaring black eyes and pulled himself into a sitting position. "I don't see why that's any of your concern, Miss Granger. I believe I already told you to leave me alone. You are already disobeying my orders by standing there." The contempt in his voice made Hermione bristle considerably. "Now leave," he snarled nastily.

"I'm not leaving you here by yourself in a cold, damp room after I've just watched you collapse to the floor from exhaustion and blood loss," Hermione snapped, annoyed at his stubbornness. "Believe it or not, I have a modicum of respect for you— Merlin knows why— and genuinely care about your wellbeing. If you can't at least attempt to stand and accept my help, then I'll have no problems contacting Madam Pomfrey."

* * *

Severus sat frozen in utter shock. He should yell at her, scream in a pique of outrage at the disrespect she was showing him and sneer at the chit for inadvertently dragging him down here when he could've been sleeping and drinking off his condition. Yet he didn't. For just as shocked as he was at her insubordination and general disrespect, he was equal parts bewildered. A mere slip of a girl, one he tormented mercilessly over the years, had shown him more indication of concern than the combined load of many within his pathetic excuse of a life. The irony was not lost on Severus.

"Very well," Severus agreed sourly, much to the apparent shock of Miss Granger, who wore a slack-jawed expression of disbelief at his acquiesce. "What is it you suggest?"

As if realising that her shock was making her resemble a gold fish, Granger quickly snapped her mouth shut. "I suggest that we move you into your quarters, sir."

Severus looked at her sharply, and a daring expression settled over his severe features. "Is that so?" he drawled.

"It is if you don't want me to alert someone, sir," Granger sniped, brown eyes meeting his in equal challenge.

He certainly wasn't in the mood to entertain Albus— or be fussed over by Poppy, who would have little choice but to alert Albus of his conditon regardless. He would meet with Albus tomorrow to relay the information he had gleamed from the meeting. Not that he had gotten much. The meeting was quite… individual in its purpose and approach.

He glared at Miss Granger for a long moment, then, without warning, stood.

For the first few moments, everything was hazy. His legs, uncorroprative with another fit of the shakes, had buckled under his weight, and the world spun as his newly-restored blood rushed to his head. Before he hit the fast approaching ground, he felt, rather than saw, something grab his arm.

A feminine grunt sounded as he reaquainted himself with his surroundings. "I wish you would give me more warning as to when you're going to stand, that way I could properly prepare, sir."

It was then that he realised that she had slipped herself under his arm, and that she was now pressed firmly into his side. He scowled and moved to pull his arm out from around the girl. "If you're going to do that," she interrupted, a mixture of caution and amusement lacing her voice, "then at least hold onto the desk first— or my arm. Though I'd suggest using my arm, given that the desk doesn't stretch too far. It's easier to sleep off your condition when you aren't crumpled up on the floor."

In the end Severus settled for using Miss Granger's arm. He told himself firmly that it wasn't because of the chit's expression of eagerness and sincerity; it was merely the logical decision.

Soon enough they had made it to his lounge, and Severus felt Miss Granger stiffen considerably. "Right, well," Miss Granger babbled, eyes darting to the lounge and back to his inscrutable expression, "lets sit you down then."

_Interesting._

He sat down on the lounge and watched as Miss Granger fidgeted incessantly in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at the witch. "I believe this counts as sitting, Miss Granger."

"Right. Yes. Erm. Are you sure you don't want to lie down? Do you need anything else? Like another blanket or some water? A cushioning charm?" Her eyes traced his face in what she likely assumed to be a reserved manner. "You look very… tired." Gryffindors weren't particularly known for their tact. Miss Granger was no exception. She might has well just told him that he looked like absolute shit right to his face.

Severus shrugged internally. He couldn't work up the energy to be offended over the comment. He was exhausted and beaten bloody; he had no doubt that he looked like death warmed over. It was through sheer will that he was even still conscious. Constant exhaustion was something Severus had accepted as a package deal with his various responsibilities. The little sleep he got was often interrupted, plagued by nightmares and inconsistent. Seeing the faces of victims he had seen tortured, or had tortured himself in a show of devout loyalty to the Dark, plagued him in all forms of consciousness. Reptilian eyes followed him through darkness, evoking terror in its wake, and green, green eyes that did the same. Emerald green. Emerald green eyes that looked at him with a combination of revulsion and accusation.

"Sir?" The voice that reached his ears sounded concerned and uneasy. Severus noted belatedly that Miss Granger had taken a step towards him, as if worried that something more sinister and criminal had caused his bout of wool-gathering. She likely suspected that she over-dosed me on blood replenishing potion, he thought with a hint of exasperation. When will the girl place trust in her own ability? He would have to train her out of it; no assistant of his, forced upon him or no, would second-guess themselves with something so elementary.

"I'm fine," Severus stated gruffly.

The younger witch nodded slightly, brushing a stubborn curl out of her eyes. "Right. Erm…"

"Just ask your question and get out."

Miss Granger's eyes snapped to his. "How did you know that I had a question?

Severus scowled. How could he not? The insufferable young woman— girl— always wore the same annoying expression in his class. "I could answer that question and force you out, but I've been encouraged by Albus to at least remain civil. Given that you've so graciously," the word dripped with derision, "taken time out of your day to appeal to your sentimental Gryffindor sensibilities and misplaced predilection for justice for my sake, I'll at least attempt to answer your question."

She didn't rise to his bait; instead, a thoughtful expression settled on her pointed features. "Do you always come back in this… condition?"

"It is… quite common to come back… compromised," Severus answered cautiously.

She nodded curtly and carefully moved to sit down in the armchair next to him. "Is there a… reason for it? I mean, why does he punish you like that all the time?"

Severus didn't comment on the extra question, or on the girl inviting herself to sit down. He was by no means pleased by the development, but he decided that it was only logical that the girl would want answers; should he be in her position, he would expect, would demand it. Miss Granger wasn't demanding anything; she was merely sitting down and patiently listening. It was… acceptable in comparison to what he was used to. And he could always forcefully extract her from his rooms, should need be.

"There is not always a reason, Miss Granger. His reasoning is known only surely to him. It is assumed that it is a test of loyalty; a taste of punishment to make transgressions… disagreeable to the perpetrator."

"But was… was there a reason?" Miss Granger glanced up at him and tilted her head slightly. "For tonight, I mean? It seems rather… harsh for when you hadn't done anything."

"Ah," Severus smirked sardonically, "and we get to the crux of the matter: what did the Potions Master do that was so worthy a beating from his Master? Surely he must have done something to deserve it."

Severus had the pleasure to see the witch blush furiously and look away. "You're correct, Miss Granger," he answered smoothly. He felt a stab of satisfaction when she flinched. "I did do something."

Miss Granger's eyebrows furrowed automatically at the implication of his words.

"You're my assistant."

The statement hung in the air above them like a bad smell. Brown eyes looked at him with ill-conceived horror and guilt. "No— I thought— Professor Dumbledore must've thought of something before he let you... I didn't even think..."

He raised a single dark eyebrow. "Are you quite done?"

She closed her mouth and, instead, settled on wringing her hands.

"Your assessment is, in a word, correct," Severus answered plainly. "Albus was aware. We spoke of the implications of the decision in depth after the confirmation of the ceremony."

And they had. The Dark Lord had been preoccupied the weekend of the binding. Such preoccupation included many muggle killings and torturing sessions. Severus was not invited. He had convinced his Master within the early days of his loyalty of his preference of… the willing… as well as his usefulness as a Potions Master away from it all. The Dark Lord had commemorated his dedication to the cause (much to Bella's consternation) and laughed delightedly at the concept of the dreaded Potions Master having a willing witch underneath him— specifically, one he had manipulated into hopeless dependence and obedience. Severus suspected the majority of the Death Eater's in attendance merely laughed at the former idea— that Severus would have a willing witch under him in the first place. He didn't bother to correct them on their assumptions. More favour to him. Indeed, when Severus became a spy, it became easier to find excuses for missing out on the majority of the dark revels, and, thankfully, a fair few of the darker deeds he didn't care to think of again, lest he lose his very limited stomach contents.

Albus had expressed his concern of leaving the announcement until he was called again. Severus simply nodded in agreeance; he needn't be told twice. The Dark Lord did not suffer fools lightly. Should the Dark Lord hear first of this development from Draco or the other Death Eater's young, then there would be price to pay. He had set up a meeting with the Dark Lord to discuss it, but not before the Dark Lord had heard of the development himself. Suffice it to say: he was not pleased. The Dark Lord had allowed Bellatrix her fun. Severus had almost groaned at the perverse look of pleasure on her face. She had never liked him. Not only did she suspect him a traitor, but the crazy bitch blamed him for stealing the limelight and attention of the Dark Lord. She also cast a mean cruciatus curse, one, ironically, much harsher than the Dark Lord's. And she had a penchant for carving people up with knives; using their skin as unblemished paper for her creation. The Dark Lord had not allowed Bellatrix to use a cursed knife this time. A small act of mercy. One born not of genuine concern, but power.

After he had been suitably punished, and the other Death Eaters had been dismissed, the Dark Lord spoke once more.

_"You disssapoint me, Sseverus. Get up."_

_He managed to haul himself up into a kneeling position. Severus ignored the spasm that shot down his leg as he did so. "My Lord, please—"_

_"SSILENCE!" The cold fury in his voice was palpable; it was a cool accompaniment to the burning pain that seared through Severus' muscles. "I have not given you permission to speak," he hissed._

_He walked over to Severus and reached out under his chin. There was no probing as much as there was brute force. Severus offered up Albus' and his first meeting regarding Miss Granger and the assistant proposition. He made sure to capsize and exaggerate his pre-existent displeasure. After a few minutes more, the Dark Lord withdrew from his mind. Seemingly satisfied, he turned on his heel. Nagini, who was floating in a protective charm next to him, uncoiled herself slightly and hissed quietly in greeting of her Master._

_"You did not alert me of this immediately," he stated, running a long finger down Nagini's outstretched body. Nagini seemed to keen under his cool ministrations. "Tell me why I was… enlightened of this development from outside sources, rather than from yo_ _u yourself."_

_Merlin, Severus could hardly wait for the day Albus ordered Nagini's demise. For reasons unknown, Albus had prohibited the killing of the bloody thing. "I had every intention of telling you, My Lord. I swear it. I had no choice in the matter. The Old Fool delayed me. I could not risk to report to you until tonight."_

_The Dark Lord ignored his explanation, and instead strode over the the large window facing out unto the Manor's courtyard. Finally, he turned back around. The gaze that met Severus' was calculating, and a cruel smile seemed to overtake the Dark Lord's serpentine features. "I want you to earn her trust."_

_"Yes, My Lord." He did not question the request. It was obvious what the Dark Lord wanted. Albus had counted on it._

_"Now leave. We will discuss this in depth when I next summon you."_

_Severus, with as much grace as was possible in his condition, forced himself into a standing position. He drew his robes around him and swept out of the room with a less than dignified limp._

Miss Granger frowned. "He knew you would be tortured over it, yet he still made me your assistant?"

Severus shrugged. Miss Granger blinked at him in a way that said, 'I had no idea your body could even do that.' "It is irrelevant. He has his means."

Miss Granger chewed on her bottom lip and cast her eyes towards the fire. Things remained silent for a while, and Severus considered asking the girl to leave so he could get some much-needed rest. Yet something halted him.

Severus looked up when a small voice met his ears. "You don't deserve that, you know."

Severus' eyebrows almost lifted off his face entirely. "Pardon?"

"I mean, you don't deserve to get used like that. You're a person too." At his blank expression, she moved the conversation on to safer grounds. "Are you going to the Order Meeting on Saturday?"

"Unfortunately," he drawled. "And you want to know this because…"

She smirked at him cheekily. "Is it that unbelievable that I'd just like to know whether I'd see you there, sir?"

He grunted.

"I'll save you a spot next to me, sir."

Severus scowled. "You most certainly will not."

Granger laughed and shrugged lightly. "It was worth a shot."

She stood up from her chair and smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes. Severus looked away. "I'll see you there, then."

He watched the fire as it licked steadily at the fire wood. "Professor?"

There was a pause as he turned his head towards the witch.

She smiled warmly, and Severus felt his chest tighten slightly before the feeling fled. "Thank you. You don't hear it enough, but thank you. For everything you do for us."

No sooner had the words been uttered did she slip out the door. Severus, after having waved his wand to check the wards, closed his eyes and let exhaustion and darkness take over. In sleep he clutched at something warm wrapped around his torso, and he inhaled the pleasant, unidentifiable, yet somewhat-familiar scent that seemed to cling to the fabric.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional notes (kinda boring, you can skip if you like, given it’s just technicalities): I’m aware of the fact that Hogwarts robes for the school uniform (like most Wizarding garb) are a thing in themselves, in that, when taken off, it’s just undergarments underneath (see the whole Snape being held upside-down by the Marauders scene). But I imagine this as just being a style of robes. I imagine Death Eater robes as being something shoved over the top of whatever robes they already had on, given how, when summoned, they leave almost immediately. I also imagine Snape wanting to ditch the outer coat and mask as quickly as he could, both given his cover and what I imagine to be his repulsion at the blood and other horror filled memories associated with the fabric. I’ve heard the whole crisp white shirt thing thrown around, and I use it not because of a lack of creativity, but because I think it genuinely suits Severus. A muggle-ish (he never liked his own muggle clothes because of his father, but this would be very different to what Tobias wore) comfort that can’t be dissed as such because of its formality and ambiguous-ness; just enough to skate the line of both the wizarding and muggle world. Plus it has buttons!! :DD Okay, I’m done.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Saturday, 1997

October 4th

Hermione couldn’t bite back the smile that lit up her face when they made their way into the threshold and heard the immediate chaos and whoops of greetings (which they returned with equal vigour). Walgara Black, thankfully, didn’t wake up (the curtains and charms, while generally ineffective, had apparently at least blocked some sound). 

Harry, Ron and Ginny had come along with her. Surprisingly, or perhaps not-so-surprisingly, Professor McGonagall had allowed it. 

_A good thing, too,_ Hermione thought wryly as she leant against the cool wall and tugged off her wet boots. Harry needed as much cheering up as he could get. 

His scar was starting to hurt again, and Hermione felt it a bad sign. 

Unsurprisingly, Harry refused to talk about it. 

_“The calm before the storm,”_ Ginny had whispered quietly to her the previous night, as Harry sat brooding once more in front of the fireplace, rubbing his scar, unresponsive to his friends’ gentle coaxing. 

Hermione sighed inwardly as she dusted the remnants of snow off her coat.

She couldn’t help but feel Ginny was right. Voldemort hadn’t simply fallen off the face of the earth; there was proof of his continued existence and malevolence everywhere they looked. Muggle killings were still on the incline, and Muggleborns were being tracked and killed outside of the castle walls with what seemed to be renewed vigour; yet nothing seemed to be progressing— except perhaps Voldemort’s impatience. Nothing on the surface, anyway. They were not so naïve as to believe that Voldemort had rested in planning Harry’s demise, but for all the world they couldn’t help but wonder at the silence they currently faced.

The question swum around their heads like wayward wrackspurts, whether or not they spoke it aloud to one another:

_What was he plotting?_

Hermione frowned thoughtfully, but was snapped out of her reverie as a pair of familiar voices, and sets of arms, met her attention. “Hermione!”

“Fred! George!” Hermione laughed, hugging them both in return after she had recovered from her temporary state of breathlessness; the twins always seemed to forget their strength. Professor McGonagall, who had up to this point been behind the four Gryffindors, slid past Hermione to the drawing room with a nod of the head in greeting to the two boys. (Although Professor McGonagall would never admit it, Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she had a soft spot for them. It was no coincidence that said soft spot emerged after McGonagall apparently caught them leaving a rather nasty jinx outside Umbridge’s office.)

“Good to see you again!” Hermione finally exclaimed, slipping the chocolate frog card she had collected into Fred’s waiting hand. “I feel terrible for not turning up to my birthday celebrations after you went to so much trouble. I really am sorry about that; it was irresponsible of me not to at least stop in to tell you I wouldn’t be attending. I’ll make it up somehow, though, I promise!” There was a pause, and Hermione leaned back so she could properly see their expressions. “How’s business?”

“Business is booming as usual,” Fred answered with a toothy grin, pocketing the card and patting her on the back. It seemed the additional apology was unneeded. Perhaps Ginny had at least alerted the twins to her emotional turmoil that night, if not the context behind it. 

The tenderness of their hug seemed in support of the theory.

They both finally withdrew from the bone-crushing hug, and George sent Hermione a sly wink. “Right. You never gave us the opportunity to thank you for your rather creative idea—”

“Oi! What gives?! You’re not even going to say ‘hi’ to your brother and sister?” Ron interrupted, crossing his arms. “Or Harry?”

Fred and George turned to Harry and stuck their hands out. “Good to see you again, mate.”

“Likewise,” Harry grinned, shaking the twins’ proffered hands.

At Ginny’s equally amused and expectant expression, the twins greeted her with a big hug also, and for good measure, a kiss on the cheek. “Good choice,” Ginny murmured, shooting the twins an exasperated smile. “You’re going to need all the back-up you can get if you give Mum half as much grief as you normally do.”

Ron huffed. “Speaking of Mum, where is she?” 

“In the drawing room ‘monitoring us’,” George answered obligingly, smirking slightly. 

“We’ve managed to coax the adults into watching our new indoor firework range,” Fred explained, wearing an expression far too proud for Hermione’s liking. “Technically the other ones were indoor too, but parents didn’t take too kindly to their glass and china being broken. A shame, really. Almost broke our Howler incinerator in return, they did.”

Ron whistled. “How’d you get Mum to go along with that? I could’ve sworn your fireworks had swears.”

“Technicalities,” Fred and George dismissed casually.

The four friend’s shared a knowing look.

“What about Professor Snape, then?” Hermione inquired, her brow furrowing in askance. “You can’t seriously tell me that he’s sat there in the drawing room waiting for your shenanigans?”

“No,” Fred answered, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “The Old Git can’t stand a bit of fun. Went down to wait for the meeting in the Kitchen with Tonks. With the fireworks being a new product, we thought it best for her to sit out. We don’t want any complications to come of it, with Tonks being pregnant and all.”

Hermione snorted, glossing over the latter explanation for now. “Of course he wouldn’t willingly stick around for anything coming from you two. He was your teacher for seven years.”

“Exactly!” George crowed. “Where’s the faith?” 

“The trust?” Fred echoed.

“Unbelievable,” Harry agreed, smirking slightly. “How could he ignore such a good reputation?”

They all laughed easily at the picture of the elder boys’ less-than-stellar reputation— most, if not all, recalling the twins’ infamous reputation that followed their “graduation”. 

“How is Tonks by the way?” Hermione asked carefully after the laughter had died down, remembering the latter part of Fred's explanation.

“Remus is still being an arse,” Ginny answered for him, then blushed at the shocked looks on her friends’ faces. “What?” Ginny asked defensively after having gotten over her short bout of embarrassment. “It's true; I overheard Mum and Tonks talking over the Floo network right before school started up, and I’m quite sure the situation is still the same. No point tip-toeing around the issue. Hence why he’s in there,” she discreetly indicated Remus, who was sitting forlornly at the other corner of the room, looking pensive, with a tilt of the head, “instead of with his wife down in the Kitchen. He’s married to her for Merlin’s sake! Tonks needs the support, living with her parents or no. She’s heartbroken; she can’t even gather the concentration to morph anymore. Remus needs to grow some balls— and quickly, too.”

Morph… morphing… transformation?

Hermione wanted to hit herself in the head for her stupidity, 

How hadn’t she thought of asking Tonks earlier? She could have easily sent her an owl with an enquiry— easily!

This time it was Harry who whistled, which evidently resulted in a slightly pinker Ginny, and a disturbed-looking Ronald Weasley. “Wiser words have never been uttered. I’m reminded more and more everyday why I love you so.”

Gagging noises ensued at the cloying display of affection. Hermione, who prided herself on her restraint, managed to keep it to a slight wrinkling of the nose. 

“I think we’ll move into the drawing room and leave you two lovebirds out here,” George said, obviously taking note of the smitten looks written across both Ginny and Harry’s face.

It was clear an imminent snogging session was approaching, and nobody was keen on sticking around for it.

Ron, for the first time in the entirety of their encounter, nodded vigorously, agreeing wholeheartedly with the twins. 

Tonks would surely have some insight into the transformative process, right? Sure, she might not be an Animagus, but there were clear parallels between the two variants. 

_Wasn’t there?_

Professor McGonagall had been extremely helpful in answering Hermione’s qualms, but she hadn’t been able to answer Hermione’s questions about the physical aspects of Animagus transformation. What had passed as a minor hiccup and inconsequential lack of information had turned into a fundamental flaw in Hermione’s budding plan: What was it like, what mental processes did it take, to transform? McGonagall had tried her best to explain it, but she had forgotten what it felt like to consciously transform for the first time, given her age and experience. Hermione had gleaned little from the exchange, save a few vague details from Professor McGonagall and the books she had lended her. 

Hermione chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. 

A fresh perspective would be more than nice where her research was concerned. 

“…coming, Hermione?” Ron asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

Hermione blinked owlishly, just barely taking in the words through her haze. Colouring slightly at his attention (and the realisation that she likely resembled a disgruntled Pygmy Puff), Hermione muttered, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to talk to Tonks about something.”

He searched her face for a long moment, as if looking for a reason of sorts for her preoccupation and dismission. Seemingly satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary, Ron simply gave in with a shrug. “If you say so.”

* * *

The fact that Hermione’s eyes shone undeniably brighter after they had split should hurt his pride. Yet it didn’t; despite how poorly he treated her, and despite betraying her trust with his careless ways, he couldn’t help but want the best for her. 

Books and knowledge and all.

He know he sounded like a hypocrite, given his relationship with Lav, but it was what she deserved. Though he couldn’t understand it himself, she deserved it. 

That much he knew.

* * *

“…well, in the first trimester my nose was very sensitive! I could smell things before I even saw them! Oh, but I really don’t like the smell of raw meat; the smell would have me retching on my already difficult morning sickness. I really did crave those muggle burger things though. And I was tired constantly! It was like I just couldn’t get enough sleep. But now… I won’t even begin on the hormones—poor Remus—but then again, there are some hormone related things he doesn’t seem to mind…”

Hermione choked on her laugh as the Potions Master, who had been previously studiously ignoring the witch’s enthusiastic prattling, stood up. “That’s enough— I’ve heard enough!”

And with that, Professor Snape turned on his heel and headed for the door. 

Hermione, not at all keen on awakening his ire, hastily stepped out of the way and nodded a perfunctory greeting; she didn’t think he would appreciate her staple, chipper greeting. 

He scowled at her, but otherwise didn’t respond. 

Hermione couldn’t tell whether she was relieved or disappointed; she had thought they had broken a barrier of sorts the last time they had officially spoken. Perhaps she had been imagining things.

Tonks’ pig-like snorts could still be heard over the sound of the library door slamming, and Hermione turned her attention back to the situation at hand.

“Don’t you think that was a bit mean?” Hermione asked, making her way over to the table, fighting but failing to conceal the amusement in her eyes.

Tonks shrugged, her dark eyes drifting back over to the door where the Potions Master had left in a swirl of black robes and indignation. “He’s said worse to me. It’ll serve him right to realise that I give as good as I get.”

There was silence for a moment.

“I don’t mean to bring it up… but I thought Remus and you were still… unsteady,” Hermione said carefully, observing the slump of the older witch’s shoulders at the mention of her marital predicament.

Seeming to recover herself, Tonks straightened and replied, “Yes, but Snape doesn’t need to know that, does he?” 

Hermione nodded. The younger witch sat down slowly and watched Tonks with a weary expression. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

“If I don’t laugh I’ll cry, Hermione,” Tonks stated evenly. Hermione noticed belatedly that the older witch had mousy brown hair, and she frowned slightly at the realisation. “And Merlin knows I’ve spent enough time crying. Now, what brings you down to the kitchen when you could be up there with your friends?”

Hermione smiled sadly, but allowed the subject to drop. “I came down here to see whether I could ask you a question— or a few, actually, if that’s okay with you.”

“Should it help you in any way, I’d be happy to,” Tonks agreed easily, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. “We’ve got quite a long while until the Order meeting begins. Ask away.”

And so, Hermione repeated the spiel she had given to Professor McGonagall, anxiously watching Tonks' expression as she spoke. Finally, when Hermione was finished, she asked tentatively, “Would you be willing to help?”

Tonks flashed her a winning smile behind the cup of tea she was cradling to her chest, and Hermione relaxed marginally at the sight. “Of course I would! I said so, didn’t I?”

Hermione sighed. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

“Though I will admit to having no clue as to how I can possibly help.” She sighed and shifted in her seat a little. Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I will admit to, erm, fudging a lot of my transfiguration homework.” Tonks glanced up at Hermione and smiled sheepishly. “I could change my appearance at will, yes, but I was bloody hopeless at every other form of transfiguration.” She paused. “Don’t tell Minerva.”

The younger witch snorted. “No, no. I was simply going to ask you a few questions about shifting. I thought— maybe— there might be some parallels between morphing in Animagus transformation and Metamorphmagus transformation.” Hermione chanced a look at the other witch. “I know that Metamorphmagi are born and not made,” Tonks nodded her assent, “but surely there are mental processes you share?”

“That’s the thing, Hermione,” Tonks replied solemnly, pushing the remnants of what looked to be shortbread crumbs into a stringent line across her plate. “I wouldn't know. These things come naturally to me, and others like me. I imagine, though less instinctive for Animagi, that this is the case for them also after a while. Any advice I can give you surrounding morphing I’ll happily give up. But you’ll be hard pressed to find much use for whatever second-hand information you manage to conjure.”

“So there’s no way around it,” Hermione conceded quietly. It was originally posed as a question, but it came out as more of a dejected statement; she hadn’t expected anything revolutionary from Tonks, but she had at least anticipated something. Something that would push her in the right direction.

“I never said that.”

There was a lapse in conversation as Hermione replayed the tête-à-tête in her head, trying but failing to find the hidden meaning behind the discouraging words. 

“This is a theoretical analysis and depth study into Animagi, is it not?” 

“Right,” Hermione answered cautiously, more than a tad bit confused as to what Tonks was getting at.

Tonks hummed noncommittally as she stood up. “You can’t successfully give an experiment true depth and validity without practical experimentation, no matter who you confer with for experience.” 

She paused for a moment as she collected the tea cups on the table. Hermione suspected that Tonks, like herself, was used to doing things the muggle way— especially recently given her living circumstances. 

Carefully walking them over to the sink, with a grace Hermione had forgotten the clumsy witch occasionally possessed, Tonks continued, “There will always be outliers and individuals who prove to be an exception to the rule; who work their minds differently to transform. It would be your job in your experiment to account for that. To be a mediator between variables. To use personal experience to make your experiment eventually transferable to others.”

“Pardon?”

Tonks had turned around and was now leaning against the sink, her pregnancy belly sticking out, and her eyes sparkling with mirth. “I think you understand me correctly, Hermione.”

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, now sorely missing the tea cup handle she had been abusing with her nervous ministrations. 

“I promised Professor McGonagall I wouldn’t.”

There was a pause for a moment, but then Tonks nodded. “In that case: forget what I said. I must be a bad influence.”

There was a clatter from above, and a Lynx Patronus flew in through the open kitchen door, bouncing off the opposing wall and up to Tonks. “I need to talk to you, Tonks. Auror business. The Order Meeting will start soon. Make haste. I need another opinion.”

“Lazy bastard,” Tonks muttered once the Patronus disappeared. “_I’m_ the pregnant one and he can’t even come down to get me.”

As she made to leave, Tonks turned back. 

“Remember what I said. Just… be careful, if you do decide to… take what I said to heart.” She grimaced. “I would hate to awake Minerva’s wrath.”


End file.
